


don't listen to your head, it only fills you with dread and with doubt (I wanna feel happy days).

by anxiouspunk



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, F/F, GUESS WHO’S BACK Y’ALL, I also mention..puking a lot in this, I was just rereading and was like ‘huh..that’s the third time I’ve mentioned vomit in this..’, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Still bad at tagging, also any extra characters that aren’t rory only show up for one scene or are just mentioned, and I mean that in their relevance to the story and as an insult, and I wanna make sure you guys know that, and I wouldn’t do my girl paris dirty like that with a bad ending, and dissecting why she’s...like that, and of course there will be lots of gellmore, and this week we’re looking at our favourite resident angry lesbian, angst! Angst! Angst! Angst!, back at it again with the 20k+ character analysis fics!, basically this is a character study fic on paris through essentially her whole life, bc I love me some sappiness, blink 182’s ‘happy days’ as title, but really they’re so insignificant it’s pointless to tag them, it’ll be obvious when reading this that I have no idea what rich people do or like, just not in the beginning bc it’s character focused, lesbian!Paris, like not intentionally or to a grotesque point, mentions of asher and jamie, paris would hate me for giving her life story an angsty title but I'm doing it anyway, so much pining, so there's that, the revival already fucked her over enough, the title was a STRUGGLE y’all, this was the best I could do, this’ll be angsty for the most of the fic but as usual y’all can depend me for a happy ending, why yes there is a meme in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 19:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouspunk/pseuds/anxiouspunk
Summary: “it’s not just my mother – it’s her and my father, it’s classmates, it’s any other family members I’ve met, it’s teachers, it’s all the specialists my mother dragged me to, it’s the few friends I ever had, it’s people I’ve dated – and you! you’ve said it too! quite honestly I still don’t understand why you’re still here! why do you even want to be my friend?!”rory’s eyes squeezed shut “paris not this conversation again –”“I’ve been unfair, too much work, and just downright mean – and you’re still here! I don’t understand you rory, why you’d still want to be here, why’d you put up all of this –”“because we are friends paris! I don’t know what it’s going to take for you to get it through your thick head!”“but even then no sane person would stay here and treat me better then I’ve shown I deserve –”“because you’re a person paris!!” the sharpness of the voice startled paris, watching rory slam down the empty mugs and fix her in a glare “and people should still treat you well! yeah you still drive me up the wall sometimes but just because you do doesn’t mean I have to treat you poorly – honestly I don’t know where you got this idea you have to deserve someone caring about you!!”





	don't listen to your head, it only fills you with dread and with doubt (I wanna feel happy days).

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you guys a bigger/full fic and I FUCKING DELIVERED!
> 
> So hi guys! Welcome to this story. Some odd time ago, I was chatting on tumblr with a friend about our beloved gay weirdo Paris Geller, and I said how it always bugged me that while Paris changes somewhat through the show, in the end she still seems very angry and miserable, especially in the revival (frankly, if the writers aren't going to give her a happy ending or even moment, then I will do it MYSELF). And that there has to be a reason why she's that way; as I've said before, it's what's always interested me about Paris and why I like pulling apart her character so much. But they never really look at it in the show, or even let her have some respite; the running theme is that Paris Is Bonkers, without ever going into it (or worse, seemingly letting on that she's been to therapy or councilling or whatever but was just Too Much for anyone that it never helped her) or giving her a chance to just be less miserable.
> 
> So, I've decided to go ahead and mess with that! I wanted to write a world where, despite her shitty parents and whatnot, there was a chance for her to /not/ be miserable, because dammit I just wanna see her happy. So, below is my take at some character analysis, following my favourite lesbian through her life, from child to powersuit adult we saw in the revival.
> 
> *But wait!* Some things first: as usual, canon can get fucked and I only use it when I want to. I follow it, all of what we know about Paris & what I actually know bc I still haven't finished the series (whoops), pretty much up until Yale, which is where you'll see I take things into my own hands. Also, I know in the revival, for Paris, it didn't seem to be going well career wise; I still don't know enough details about the show and everything to have decided an ulterior job choice, so instead I just made it go really well for her. Because she deserves it. 
> 
> Anyway, I think that's it! Enjoy y'all! I'm really hyped about it, bc I haven't posted a long fic like this for gg since /December/. So I hope you like it!

the first time she hears it, it’s from her mother. what a shock.

she’s young. can’t remember the age exactly; she thinks four, maybe five. old enough to remember it, anyway.

her family was hosting another grand soiree, as they usually did; inviting all of hartford’s upper elite to bask in their riches with thousand dollar bottle champagne and the nicest clothes money could afford. the house filled with people, fake talks and hollow laughter.it was quite the event.

and these other people, they’d also brought their children. they were all playing together, parents watching from afar, making notes, deciding who was the brightest of them all, the most mature, who was definitely going to get ahead a grade, who was going the farthest. frankly, half these parties were really just to pick and bet who’s child they had to watch out for, swap stories that their kid already got into that special selected preschool and who’s matured above their own age group – who was going to make the family the proudest.

and the gellers were ready to boast their daughter; that she’d was the smartest in her preschool class, that there was already talks to put her into kindergarten. which is why they got the help to tote out their little paris, sea green dress and silk bow holding up her then bright blonde hair, wide-eyed and clutching her nanny’s hand.

paris remembers, the adults hovering over her. all the staring eyes, watching, judging. her parents pressed smiles she knew, even at this age,were worn for these parties and these parties only. the group of kids, loud and clamoring, that she’d never met in her life.

“_there’s my little girl!” _

“_oh, that dress is adorable!” _

“_isn’t it? we got it specialty made you know, designer, shipped from out of state..” _

“_you say they’re bumping her from preschool?”_

“_well that’s what they tell us! they said something about her being too smart for the material, that she needs a bigger challenge..”_

paris didn’t know why she had to be here. all these people were making her nervous. she held her nanny’s hand tighter, pressing against the woman’s side and faintly hearing her whisper gently back to her. but that’s when her mother’s voice, slick and sweet in a way paris never hears, cuts in to ask, 

“_paris sweetheart, why don’t you come play with all your friends? hmm? come say hi?” _

she’d never spoken to these kids, and she didn’t want  to. she was used to being the only kid and playing on her own and all she wanted to do was to read her new picture books with her nanny. there was a growing  pit of nerves in her stomach. she pressed closer to her nanny, trying to hide behind. the parents looked to each other, exchanging wordless thoughts. her mother lost her smile but regained it, pressing even thinner. 

“_now, paris, don’t be shy – c’mon, you’re missing all the fun, come join –”_

her mother started drawing near and so paris ducked behind her nanny’s legs, vapidly shaking her head. there were some  stilted laughs. she feels her nanny’s hand on her back gently trying to coax her out, but she’s not quick enough for paris’s mother, who suddenly snatches her arm, yanking her out.

“_paris you’ll listen to me –”_

“_no!” _she’s squeaked, pulling away, trying to wriggle out from her mother’s grasp. it was too tight; she could feel the polished nails digging into her skin. wetness started welling under her eyes. 

now everyone was watching; the kids quirking their heads, adults looking at each other and smiling, but the smiles weren’t nice.  her father, swirling cognac with other men in suits a couple feet away, was vividly ignoring the situation.

“_mrs. geller, let me, I can –”_

“_no! no, we’re fine – paris, stop acting out this instant and come here! what is __**wrong **__with you?! stop this –”_

she isn’t sure how she does it, but she rips her arm free as her mother gets distracted trying to explain to her guests. she stumbles, tripping on and ripping the fancy fabric wrapped around her legs, and sets off running, ducking the hands of both her mother and nanny. she can’t see well, wiping her hands over her eyes, her mother screaming her name, away from the gazes of others. now her mother had turned lethal and she could just hear her screaming at her nanny, 

“_go and get her right now!! and bring her back here!!” _

“_y-yes ma’am, I’ll get her...” _

before paris turns the corner, before she’s out the room entirely, she can hear her mother’s aggravated voice turned huffy and thinned from forced politeness, telling guests  _“_ _she’s fine, it’s_ _ just a phase, she’s going through a phase, she’ll grow out of it..”_

after her nanny does find her – her favourite hiding spot, in the library of her father’s books, in the far back in the tiny space squished between the fiction shelf and the non-fiction shelf that’s perfect for hiding, knees up and crying into her ruined dress. manages to coax her out so paris can crawl into her arms, enveloped by the hug as she cries and the soft voice shushing kindly. that, instead, they sit there together in the library. they don’t go back. and later, paris will hear her nanny explaining to her mother’s demands _why didn’t you bring her back?!_ with _I’m sorry ma’am, I could not find her, she hid!_

paris will remember that, when she gets older. but she won’t forget her mother’s  voice either.

-

it’s her first day of grade school. grade one. 

she’s very nervous.  _what if I don’t make friends? _ she’d asked her nanny last night as she helped paris into the cotton pyjamas, kissing the little girl on the head with a sweet tisking  _of course you will. _

she’s still worried, but she’s trying to have the same optimism. it’s already time for centers, and the kids are split off to play. paris stands in the middle of the sea, brand new checkered dress and nervously tugging at her woven braid, watching the laughing bodies move around her. she wasn’t sure what to do first. how do you even make friends? her nanny said to just go up to some kids and ask to play, it shouldn’t be too hard. 

her eyes land on a group of little girls off to the side at the art table, sitting and giggling over mounds of colourful string and beads. they were making bracelets; well, they were trying to. one girl was trying to figure out how to tie hers up, but was unsure of which kind of knot to make and how to do it.

paris lit up. she knew how. she’s made lots with her nanny. she could show them how – yeah, she’ll go over and help and then they’ll want to her friends for sure after she fixes it for them! she eagerly scurries over, their heads still down at paris approached. 

“I dunno, maybe you gotta go ask mrs –”

“I know how!” 

the heads whipped up, finding the young blonde doing her best to smile down at them. they only blinked back, not sure what to do. but that didn’t deter paris. 

“here –” she knealt onto one of the chairs, grabbing the bracelet from the girls’ hands. 

“hey! –”

paris paid no mind, still determined in her plan. she held the two sides of the purple twine up and began looping them. 

“see, you have to put this one end under this one, and then you pull it through and then –”

and presto, paris had a fully looped together bracelet. she held it up to the girl, smiling, and then placed it down.

“..see? I closed it. I fixed it for you.” 

the girl picks up the bracelet, and paris waits for the praise, waits for them to thank her. waits to be welcomed in now that they saw what she can do. instead, the girls’ face crumples up in a way paris knows isn’t good. 

“you ruined it!” she cried, tugging on the string “I didn’t want it done like that!” 

paris  blanched. but...she fixed it. they were  suppose to be happy. 

“what’s wrong with you?” another one of the girls asked, glaring at paris through thick rimmed glasses “you can’t just take people’s stuff!” 

“I-I didn’t!” paris defended, feeling familiar panic expand in her chest “you said you wanted it tied up! I did it!”

what was the matter with these girls?! they were  suppose to be glad she helped them! they were  suppose to be friends now!

“_I _wanted to do it! and now it’s done wrong!” the girl practically wept, now also glaring at the blonde “you made it bad!” 

they hated her. and paris had only been trying to fix it. she felt her panic start to spark into anger and her fists start to clench up, glaring back. 

“_I did not!” _she defended “you didn’t even know how to do it, you’re dumb!” 

the three of them gasped. paris suddenly realized her mistake. the first girl, who paris had apparently so deeply scorned, now hurriedly stood up  from her chair. 

“I’m going to go tell the teacher! tell her you’re mean and you ruined my bracelet!” 

paris’s stomach dropped. the girl was two seconds from rushing off and paris knew she had to do something because if their teacher knew then she’d get in trouble and then she’d tell her parents and her mom would be so mad at her. 

so paris did the first thing she could do, anger and upset meshing over this girl who was tying to get her in trouble and blaming her for something she didn’t do – she reached out and shoved her right onto the ground. 

she hit the  linoleum and in that second paris realized what she did. a  _sorry _ was already on the tip of her tongue, ready to  apologize and make nice, but that dream was dashed. now the girl was actually crying. her friends immediately came to her side, asking if she was okay and trying to help her up. the noise was attracting some heads now and paris feels  the other kids watching, panic  suddenly much louder and chewing at her and she knew if she stood here any longer she’d be in for it. 

she bolted. 

she ran away as far as she was able when they weren’t allowed to leave the classroom. and the farthest away was the coat/cubby room. paris sat up on the wood shelf of cubbies  built under the coats, right where her magenta one was, and then cloaked herself behind it, knees to her chest and breathing heavy. 

she didn’t come out for the rest of center's, not until their teacher called them for storytime. she instead sat in the darkness, head bowed down, hidden, to  stifle her tears. when she goes home that day, she pries herself out of her nanny’s arms,  _I don’t wanna talk about it!, _ and goes to burrow out in her favourite place in the library amungst the safety of books. 

no one talks to her the next day in class. or the class after that. 

and, seeing the waste of time  making friends actually was, paris doesn’t try again.

-

the muffled, harsh talk behind the door was making it hard for paris to enjoy her book. she swung her legs as she sat on the plastic chair, nose to her book. specifically, _the secret garden._ she was already, at eight, reading at a seventh grade level. reading advanced books, getting straight a’s, thankfully appeasing her parents at some aspect. 

though they didn’t sound so happy now. they were inside the therapist's office after paris came out of there about an hour ago. she was getting quite used to it now, to answering the questions of the older men and women who sit behind nice desks and ask her about her life and her school and her family. about how angry she is. about how happy she is or isn’t. paris usually answers truthfully, except when they ask about her parents; she doesn’t say she wishes her father would stop constantly asking for grade marks before report cards are even sent out because she always gets top marks anyway, or that she’d like more then the allotted amount of one bowl of ice cream her mother lets her have weekly, but she knows that information will only be shared later and she’s smarter then that.

they’d been doing this so often now, paris knew the rodeo pretty well. it’d started from her early grade school  teachers ,  kindergarten and first grade and whatnot, concerns written to her parents that paris wasn’t making any connections in class, that she won’t play with her peers and seems to dislike to, only focusing on schoolwork. they’d ignored that of course, her father seeing no problem with where her focus was. until there were reports she was getting into arguments with classmates. that there was possibly some bullying going on, from both ends. that she was having panic attacks in the middle of class.

it was causing such a stir in their tiny, inner elite community that her parents finally had to do something about it. nothing big at first; they’d do everything to try and keep it under the sly, getting her to talk to their rabbi. an older man paris had never spent more then five minutes with, going on about patience and jewish values and nothing paris could actually grasp. when that didn’t work, they tried doctors, who could asses there was nothing wrong physically, so they were forwarded to private councilors. they tried to teach her things like calming exercises and writing in a journal – band-aid solutions that fell off everytime she got a nosebleed from her anxiety over a dinner party (therefore ruining her dress) and dumped water from her water bottle in megan harris’s backpack after _she _took paris’s gym clothes when they were changing, and after they all told her parents _you need to seek professional help. _

which meant therapists. it meant fancy offices and leather couches to sit on and adults writing in notepads and telling them how she doesn’t have any friends but she  _has_ gotten first place in every science fair two years running.

sometimes she listens. leaning next to the closed door crack as her parents argue with the very professional they hired, hearing from said professionals things like, 

_she’s a very bright but unfortunately very miserable child – _

_your_ _daughter has an extraordinary problem with anger and at this rate she won’t be able to make any positive connections with her peers –_

_ taking some time away from school and it’s subsequent work might be good for paris, as she’s experiencing abnormal amounts of pressure and anxiety for someone her age – _

_ I’d highly recommend getting a formal diagnoses, for it might lead you to some answers as to what’s wrong with her – _

but they didn’t want to do that. they didn’t want to find out  _ why,  _ her parents just wanted  _ solutions. _ just wanted to fix whatever the hell it was that was making her like this and therefore causing them stress and denting the family’s good name. but never actually admitting something was the matter. 

the door ripped open, making her jump slightly. her father came out first, followed by her mother with that scrunched look she has on when he’s said something to anger her, which seems like always. they always seem angry with each other. paris had recently been told about the idea of divorce from a kid in her class who’s parents were getting one. now she was wondering when her parents were going to get one.

her father went over to the counter as her mother stood nearby, seething. her head snapped to paris after, furrowing. 

“you’re slouching! don’t slouch.” she snapped her fingers, and nudged paris up by her shoulder, who quickly rose up. after she told paris to hurry up because they were leaving, walking back to the counter by her father. 

paris slipped on her puffy overcoat, holding her book tightly in her hands as she walked up to them, now arguing about something regarding costs,  _a rip off _ and whatnot. 

“hey sweetheart,” paris turned, seeing the smiling receptionist leaning around the counter, holding up a plastic case of treats “you want one?” 

paris perked. she inched forward, hand stretching into the pile, aiming for a  tiny kitkat bar amungst the mini snickers and single resse’s cups – 

her mother’s hand came down over her wrist and ripped it away.

“you don’t want that!” she hissed at her daughter, after giving an ugly eye to the receptionist. before paris could do anything, she was being tugged and marched out the door, still feeling the receptionists eyes on the back of her head as they left.

in the car ride back to the house, paris just tried to pay attention to her book, but once more, her parents tumultuous fighting was making that very difficult.

“_eight hundred dollars, _god’s sake.” her father grumbled, trying to relax against the white leather seating as he tugged at his blazer “he was suppose to be one of the best in state – and for what?! for him to tell us the same damn thing the rest of them have been telling us?! I told you, this is waste of goddamn time!” 

“oh well I’m _open _to suggestions, if you’d be willing to actually give one for a chance!” her mother challenged.

“of course, because you’d listen.”

“_I –”_

“he wants to pull her from school! what the hell kind of suggestion is that?!” he was now pulling out the car’s bar cart, pouring himself a glass of whiskey, and after glaring back at paris who’d lifted her eyes over the rim of her book “you are _not_ stopping school.” 

“I know..” paris mumbled “I like school..”

“see?! and you wanna pull her!” 

“I _never _said that – god, you’re always putting words in my mouth! and it’s so easy for you to say – you weren’t the one who got told the school had to call the house because she’d bled all down her shirt again, or that she refuses to do group projects! it’s embarrassing!” 

paris furrowed, pushing her book further to hide her face. her mother didn’t know that was because no one ever wanted to do group projects with her. last time when they had to make a  diorama for their weather unit, their assigned group said they were going to meet in the library, but when paris went there, no one showed up, finding out they’d gone somewhere else. 

her father only rolled his eyes. no longer able to dig into him,  her mother turned to her, grabbing under her chin to tug her over, glaring down in examination. paris squirms.

“what??” 

“you’re using that nighttime retainer, aren’t you?” not waiting for a response, she pulled paris’s jaw down to open and check “all of this in front, it’s crooked –”

paris weaseled her way out from the grip “I am!” 

her mother didn’t stop, continuing to prod,  fiddling with the blonde hair that was starting to darken, a finger under her jaw line “god, it’s only a matter of time before you reach puberty – we’re going to have to get this fixed as well –”

“what fixed?!” her father finally perked, brow scrunched “you’re already draining every bank account we have with the repeated implants and surgeries, she doesn’t need anything –”

“she does! I’m already seeing skin issues, and her chin juts out, her features are far too sharp; this won’t be good later when she starts seeing boys –”

“she’s _seven!_ I think our priorities should be her getting the better grades before some pubescent boys can decide if she’s –”

“oh, so you actually have thoughts on this? I thought we weren’t worth your time or money –”

it dissolves into more arguing. paris just scrunches up in her seat, turning so she’s faced the  window, head in her novel. not saying that she thinks all the boys in her class are dumb or that she was  actually eight. she swallowed through her thick throat, and simply tried to get lost in the book instead of hearing the same shallow remarks and insults all over again.

she’ll remark on that line her mother said over the shape of her face, again, when she’s older, with a bit of sour humour. what’s amusing about it, is that she looks a lot like her mother; the long face, jutted chin, thin cheeks. both the same.

but, that honestly says everything, doesn’t it?

-

it started with a rose. well, really valentines day.

an absolutely stupid holiday, paris thinks. the girls in her eighth grade class fall all over themselves for it of course, showing off their gifted  _be mine _ teddy bears to each other and frantically gossiping about who was going to get a rose. the fact that someone was putting that much effort in whether a  _boy _ spent five dollars on a plastic flower was beyond paris. her time was put to exceedingly better things by finishing off the extra credit package for mrs. green’s geography, she thinks as she circles the last true or false answer. 

as for valentines day, her only hope was that when she goes to student council tomorrow morning, there will still be leftover chocolate hearts they’d been giving out. her mother has been putting her on various skin cremes after banning chocolate, claiming it made her break out, so whatever paris can sneak, she’ll take. in the pit of her stomach, she was worried her mother was going to ask is she got anything for valentines, as she was constantly on about that stuff to her;  _you’re far too aggressive boys like nice girls, you need to be wearing more make-up you’re getting to the age, boys don’t like it when girls talk too much paris _ (frankly, paris thinks it’s her  _mother _ who doesn’t like it when she tries to talk to her about her new book or what she learned in history class).

this is all to say, valentines was not on paris’s radar. until the fake rose that was dropped right onto her package of papers, pulling her head up from her notes.

“hey!” she calls to the kid walking away, the one with the red sash delivering roses from the bushel he was carrying “what’re you doing?! what’s this?!” 

he squints back at paris “uh, it’s a rose?”

“well who’s it from?” 

he shrugged “I dunno. I’m just  suppose to deliver em’.” 

with that he walks off, leaving paris unanswered and annoyed. she looks down at the flower splayed in front of her again. there was a note taped to it, something she failed to notice at first. if you wanted, they let students write a little love note to put with their rose for their ‘special someone.’ cautiously, paris peeled open the pink construction paper note. 

_Paris,_

_You. Me. After class, behind the school by the tennis courts. _

_L.E_

and there was a heart after the initials. paris squints. l.e. who the hell was that? she did a datalog search of all the many faces of her peers, going across all the boys until she ran into – 

paris gasped quietly. landon evans. of course. she raised her head from her lone table, across the cafeteria to the table of busying kids, spotting him there. landon was a popular kid. nice enough, was on student concil too and paris knew he did advanced math and would probably go on to join his dad’s accounting firm. 

she was wary. what would landon evans, who has friends and lots of girls crushing on him, want with her? and including the fact that she’d newly switched into this school because her parents thought she might fair better here. but the social isolation and bullying – where paris was both bully and victim – hadn’t stopped like they’d wanted. 

it was all charlotte miller’s fault. she’d been on paris’s nerves since she got here. with her wavy chestnut hair and blue eyes, boys drooled all over her, and accompanied by her bubbly persona, she was plenty popular. paris had spent much time staring at the girl in their socials class; she made paris nervous, angry, clearly signs that blonde took that she must be up to no good. and that was proven when she ran against paris for student treasurer, won by a landslide, and then had the  _nerve_ to mock paris by asking if she wanted to still help by being assistant. paris told her she’d rather swallow glass, and after that, charlotte and her friends had been snubbing paris and spreading rumours, laughing at her whenever they got the chance. 

paris stared across at landon now, trying to figure this out. as if he knew, his head lifted up, eyes meeting hers. paris froze. she was expecting the usual snubbing – instead, he raised an eyebrow of intrigue at her, and  _smiled._ actually smiled at  _her, _ clearly having seen her receive the note and rose. paris felt her cheeks go pink, but then, slowly, a smile came over. maybe it was real after all. that a sweet, handsome guy she knew was actually smart, liked her.

she did her best to focus on her school work for the rest of the day, but it still lingered in the back of her head. she even kept the note on her, stuffed in her blazer pocket, occasionally putting her hand back in just to feel it there, causing a smile every time. she couldn’t believe it – a guy actually liked her. shunned freak, ugly duckling, paris. part of her couldn’t wait to also get home to tell her mother – maybe this’ll get her off her back. maybe she’ll actually be impressed.

come three o’clock, she was standing around nervously by the tennis court blocked off by the wooden fence, folded arms clinging around herself. her head was turning to every footestep or voice floating by, on edge, more unneeded nerves added to the pile she has. finally, a shadow of a body turns the corner and she whips her head over.

landon is walking his way over to her, smiling. paris inhales sharp, keeping her jaw from falling down. he was actually here. 

“you’re here.” he remarked “I wasn’t sure if you’d come or not..” 

“m-me neither..” paris stumbles “I-I mean, about you, I wasn’t sure if you’d come..” 

“why not?” 

paris rolled her eyes to negate her nervousness, eyes down as she shifts her weight “well this is  _kind of_ the first time you’ve ever mentioned this; you’ve never said you liked me before..” 

“right – well, a lot of girls like me, but if I’d told them about you, then they just would’ve come after you. big ol’ cat fight, you know? I didn’t want you to go through that..” 

oh. well, that was polite of him. paris glances up at him now as he stood before her, at fair green eyes and dusty blonde hair, and the charmed smile. 

“but, you actually do?...” 

“c’mon paris. I’ve seen you during council and class; you’re way smart, you’re pretty, you’re not like a lot of those airhead girls, you know?” 

they were kind of like airheads. paris felt a weird kid of giddiness take over, tainting her cheeks red. she could get used to this  _someone _ _liking_ _ you _ thing.

“and now, finally, I’ve decided I can’t keep it in any longer.” he held up his arms in declaration, still grinning at her “I had to tell you I liked you. and how happy I am you decided to meet me here.” 

paris felt a smile growing over her now as well “me too..”

“..so, now that I’ve told you..” slowly, he started leaning closer into her, grinning down “there’s something I wanna give you..” 

paris feels herself  seize up. oh god, was he going to kiss her? she didn’t know what to do about that. part of her liked the idea; a big milestone she was eager to pass, and she could do worse then landon. another part was way too scared. she didn’t know what to do. she wouldn’t even know where to start. she hadn’t even had a chance to chew gum beforehand. 

“what’s that?..” she whispers back. she could feel herself start to break into a sweat.

his grin only grows. there’s a whispered  _I’ll show you_ and he starts leaning in further, his lips coming closer to hers, and before paris can decide what she wants to do –

“now!!” 

from nowhere, paris feels about a buckets worth of  soaping and  _cold_ water hit her. she yelps and springs away, sputtering and freezing. there’s manic laughter behind her. she looks down to see her uniform completely  _soaked _ from the shoulders down, dripping everywhere. she’s thrown and wide-eyed, breathing fast in panic and trying to – 

the laughter. she looks up to see charlotte and her friends walk out from behind the fence, laughing and sneering. paris blinks back. she looks up to landon and he has the same face, the same sneer. her stomach hits  the floor.

a trap.

“oh my god, I can’t believe it worked!” charlotte laughed, hanging onto landon’s shoulder _“great_ job you guys – but we couldn’t have done it without our star landon..” 

“I-I...you..” paris stutters, trying to find her landing, trying to catch up with what was happening. there was more giggling, making her throat tighten up, and fingers curl into her palm.

“you didn’t think I actually _liked you,_ did you?..” landon mocked, smile cutting. gone was the sweetness and charm. he’d been lying, he’d lured her. anger sparks in paris at the words, teeth gritting together and seething.

“no!” she snapped, desperately searching for an out “I...I..” 

she couldn’t. she’d really believed, really let herself fall so foolishly, into thinking someone liked her. who had she been kidding? no one ever has, why would a popular good-looking boy popping up from nowhere suddenly change that?  _idiot._ she couldn’t believe she’d been that stupid. she’s trying to hide the stinging around her eyes, the crestfallen face, but it was no use.

“aw, poor paris..” charlotte mock-consoled, the sympathetic smile as fake as fake could be “you really thought landon actually wanted to date you, didn’t you?..” 

“god, I’d rather kiss the lunch lady first.” he chuckled.

paris glared back at charlotte, still seething and swallowing down tears. having landon fake liking her was one thing, and really, potentially the thing paris should be most upset about. having enough hopes that a guy she liked did actually like her back, only to have it thrown in her face. but somehow it wasn’t. it was charlotte and how mad she was at her, how upset. that she was pretty and smart and had next to everything and now, she’s completely bested over her and made paris look like the idiot.

“...you _bitch.” _she hissed.

“_you’re _the bitch.” charlotte lost her sneer, switching into a glare “I tried to be nice to you, be friends and work together on council, and you just went and hated me for no reason at all and acted like a total jerk – there’s a reason no one likes you, you know. what is _wrong _with you honestly?” 

paris wanted cut-throat words to hit back. wanted to hit back so the girl could feel as much hurt as she was feeling. but all she could do was heave and glare, snarl cracking by the tears coming over. _your_ _daughter has an extraordinary problem with anger and at this rate she won’t be able to make any positive connections with her peers –. _she’s struggling to keep it down and keep up the look of anger and they can tell as laughter and cruel grins start up again, _look at her she’s actually going to cry, _and so there’s nothing she can do except run, getting as far away from the sneering and laughs as she could.

when she goes home that afternoon, she’s relieved to find her mother was away on a business trip. she avoids her nanny who asks her why she’s in her gym clothes then her actual uniform, spitting out to be left alone. she lets her be, but when the older woman comes in at night to say goodnight and drop off some hot chocolate she thought paris would like (and she can get away with since her mom’s away), paris breaks. she reaches up from where she’s laid in bed and grips her arms tight around her nanny, face pressed into her to hide. her tears were quieter then they’d been in the past, hidden in the warm shoulders, but grateful for the soothing arms brought around her smaller body, shushing and rubbing gently.

a week after that, paris learns a new spot has opened up in debate club. and that charlotte wanted it. so, she went to mr. mcloud who was judging the tryouts during lunch; managed to weasel her way in and showed off how well-suited and capable she was for debate. by the end, he seemed genuinely impressed, so that when they actually held tryouts and everyone, including charlotte, thew in their hat, paris landed the role. and when charlotte demanded from her how she did that when she didn’t even see her at tryouts, paris replied non-nonchalantly _“__well__ charlotte, if you’d really wanted the position, you’d have gone to see mr. mcloud beforehand and have shown him, like I did. but hey, not everybody has the mindset to think ahead, and there’s always next year.”, _smiling at the seething look of shock she got in return. 

so what no one liked her. this, paris decided, was far better.

-

if paris has to hear about tina’s party one more time, she’ll lose it. 

it’s all madeline and louise can talk about. it’s all  _anyone _ can talk about it seems, but her friends especially. tina’s parents were going to be away the weekend so she was throwing a huge party at their manor, and anyone who was anyone was going to be there. 

except, well, paris.

“come _on _paris!” madeline begged, throwing herself up rather dramatically against the lockers _“everyone _is going to be there! why not??” 

“because, frankly,” she threw open her locker door, giving them another glare “I would rather drink lead then go see couples play tonsil hockey or just how many keg stands the football team can do.” 

“but it’ll be fuuuunn!!” 

“_what _part of that sentence is fun madeline?! what part?!”

paris has known madeline and louise for about a year now, and she still fails to understand them sometimes. probably because they weren’t really the kind of people she’d normally want to spend time with; she was assigned to the pair for a school project, and afterwards they just sort of...clung to her. paris didn’t really get it at first, half worried as she usually was that this was some kind of prank, but eventually saw it’s because they  _wanted _ to hang around her, despite the very little they actually had in common. and paris soon understood it was because madeline and louise were not people of their own; they were basically groupies personalities, and were kind of looking for some kind of leader to latch onto who could direct them. and paris was exactly that person.

so it wasn’t like they formed any super close bonds or had interesting conversation – they were  _smart,_ smart enough to get into chilton anyway, but they weren’t intellectual, preferring to drool over the boys in class then help paris make study sheets – but it was better then nothing, and maybe madeline and louise appreciated her studious ways that kept them from failing all their classes.

“_tristan_ will be there.” louise cut in, leaning against madeline’s shoulder with a grin. 

paris huffed. she shuffled the books in her locker, wriggling out her math text from the giant stack.

“yeah, and he’ll just be chasing whatever girl he’s newly obsessed with this week.”

“yeah, which could be _you _if we went to the party!” 

paris can’t help the snort, eyes rolling so far back she’d be able to see her brain “oh  _god_ what a high honour that would be! really, what other bribes do you have to offer me?” 

madeline finally lost the chipper look, making some kind of frumpled frown.

“what’s wrong with you? don’t you at least wanna see him, or just have fun instead of going home and doing _another _one of neufeld’s math quizzes for extra credit?” 

before paris could hit back with one of her verbal cuts, louise had perked up, tapping repeatedly on madeline’s shoulder.

“oh! I heard ashley hays is doing a carpool to tina’s! her parents just got that new SUV and they’re letting her use it!” 

“oh my god, that would be perfect! I also heard that like, her boyfriend is coming with, and he might be bringing some of the guys from _his track team_ too..”

“you know, she’s in my history class, and she’s pretty cool, so if they’re free seats I bet we can...”

paris’s stomach started to sink. she shifted her head to look over at them, excitedly planning for the boys they were going to snuggle up to, tina or ashley or whoever the hell else’s friends they were going to chat up. and boring old paris, who they were going to leave behind.  _what’s wrong with you?_

“..yeah, and if we get some vodka from my parents – they _never _lock the cabinet – we could pre-game with them –”

“no!” paris cut in, sharp, getting both heads to spin to her “..I-I mean I’ll do it, I’ll go...” 

“oh. great!” madeline cheered right up, not seeming at all to notice the panic paris was trying to wash off “saves us the trouble of asking – this’ll be great, we’ll make sure you look _so good _tristan will have no choice but to _beg _to go out with you!” 

“_definitely_ – hey, you guys should come to my place before we drive over so we can get ready together!” 

they’re falling over each other again in the excitement and paris can only nod back. she didn’t want to do any of those things. she doesn’t like to plaster on make-up like they do and she knows louise is going to force her to wear one of her mini-skirts again. and she thinks tristan is cute, but she never really thought about _dating__ him. _and now she was going to spend her entire evening either locking herself in tina’s washroom or following her friends around because if no body watches them they’re gunna think shotgunning beers is a good idea and afterwards throw up in her car. 

but she also remembers what it’s like having no friends at all. 

they might be sheep, but at least they’re her sheep. and she was going to hold onto that as long as she was able.

-

chilton doesn’t accept students mid-year.

they just don’t. it was practically unheard of. so when a new girl suddenly shows up, paris figured she had to be a big deal.

for someone coming from such a tiny town, she’d stacked a pretty impressive record. and she couldn’t help but notice this girl’s petulance for writing – and what paris was not about to do, was lose her potential for editor. which means this girl had to know her place on the hierarchy, and paris was more then willing to show her.

rory. rory gilmore.  _not_ lorelai, which was honestly a good choice because really what kind of name was that?

first glances, she was mousy. bookish. the kind of girl with the sweet exterior that probably enabled her to talk to woodland creatures. paris was confident she could mow her down easily. she was also beautiful – not that paris took special note, it was just obvious. she starred rory down in the classroom, watching her tuck a dark lock of hair behind her ear. the boys here were going to go crazy for her, surely. she probably already had a boyfriend. the thought made paris inexplicably sick, anger rising in her throat after.

she didn’t care for this rory gilmore and she had to go. 

and thankfully, that wasn’t proving hard to pull off. this girl was proving maybe not to be exactly a softie, but not a fighter either, and when  paris caught the worry behind the confusion after she hissed her threats, she knew the seed had been planted. plus, trying to suck up to paris after she ruined her project, calling out answers to teacher’s questions before  _anyone _ else got another chance – a kiss ass was all she was. and when medina handed her back that d on her test, paris knew it was all over – maybe those ‘smarts’ worked in backwoods nowhere town, but here was a different story.

rory wasn’t going to last a week.

and paris felt pretty confident it was over when the girl totally failed to show up for their english test – only for the door to suddenly burst open. it was rory. she looked like she’d been through hell and back, wide-eyed and panting. medina is trying to explain that she missed the test, and rory’s actually  _arguing _ with him. nearly begging him to let her take it, claiming she knew her stuff, she’d practically ingested the study material, she could do it if he just gave her the chance – 

“_I know his birthday and his mothers name –”_

god, this was sad wasn’t it? paris couldn’t resist it, sneering a _loser_ to louise who eagerly sneered back. triumphant because little miss sunshine here finally lost her footing –

and apparently that was the straw that broke the  camel's back. 

suddenly, paris had unleashed a warpath. the brunette spun around, teeth baring, and began  _screaming._ at her.  


“_and just what is wrong with you huh?! you already have everything! you already have the grades and the status. what the hell is wrong with you –”_

and paris isn’t entirely sure what to do. if this was a different situation,  _not _ situated in the middle of school taking a test, she would’ve easily swung back. but it’s not. the familiar  _what is wrong with you _ sinks in paris’s stomach like a stone, her teeth biting angrily into her cheek and head kept down.

but to admit something she normally wouldn’t ever, she was slightly taken aback by this.

rory was breathing right down her neck. daring her to glance back and look her in eye. now she’s stepped up to the ring and is very well ready to push paris off the side. and paris is a little lost because no one else had ever tried. 

little miss sunshine had  _fight._

and when rory, practically dragged out kicking and screaming by medina, seething with all the might she  had and telling tristan  _the name’s _ _ **rory!** _ _ ,  _ paris can’t help but be very invested.

she went home that day with rory’s words still in her head. she was trying to do vocab sheets but  _ what is wrong with you _ keeps screaming, twisting something sour in her. and she doesn’t really know why. something sane in her realizes it would probably be the reaction of anyone who was so suddenly attacked from nowhere – who had threats spat at them when they’d virtually done nothing. _ an  _ _ extraordinary _ _ problem with anger –  _

_ what is wrong with you –  _

paris grips onto her pencil tighter. nothing was the matter with her – the problem was _rory. _she was the one out for her livelihood. and quite frankly, it wasn’t _her _who had everything – that was rory. rory who was not only smart but _pretty, _quick-witted, actually funny. who she’d find out had a mother who’d actually care if she fell off the face of the earth, who loved her and you could see it.

still, despite all that, the whole thing had left paris almost impressed. she had  slightly more respect for gilmore now,  knowing she could actually play the game, that she had some fight in her. it does mean she won’t bow as easily and she might have to sink in her claws, but if paris loves anything it’s a good competition. 

so next morning at chilton she keeps an eye peeled for rory, seeing if after the mess of yesterday, she’d still be here. and shockingly, she was. paris caught her sitting outside the classroom, reading. it  was  _ handmaid’s tale. _ paris loved that book. it was, frankly, the first time she’d ever seen a chilton student pick up something along that intellect, of even along the same lines. deep in the back of her brain, she had a wondering to what rory might think of  it.

then rory raises her head, as if she’d heard paris’s thoughts. she involuntarily meets paris’s steely gaze, widening slightly – more in surprise then fear though, baiting on what the blonde will do. 

paris feels herself instantly harden. a glare to the baby blues,  venomous and confident. just because gilmore was reading one of her favourite books means nothing. she refuses to ever let herself slip – especially now that she knows the brunette is more then what she seems. 

game on.   


-

paris was  stuck. she was a bit lost, and she’s trying to sort  herself out. but she’s not reaching any conclusion. 

she’s sitting on her bed – 9:24 pm, about twenty minutes after tristan dropped her off. from their date. her first date, with a boy.

and it wasn’t...bad. in fact, it went really well. she’d prepped herself for the worst, but was nicely surprised when the whole thing didn’t collapse underneath her.

so, putting all that together, she should feel good. top of the world, considering she had a really-well-off date with the guy she’s been crushing on for forever. 

and she doesn’t. 

not that she feels bad, per say. just lost, because she’s not feeling what everyone’s suppose to say she should be. 

she was suppose to be glad the boy she liked went on a date with her; and she was, but she was anxious and on edge the whole time. she should’ve liked that he held her hand – which was nice of him, but didn’t stop her from thinking the whole time that his hand was clammy and calloused. she should be jumping up and down with glee that he kissed her – and yes, it was arguably a good kiss, clear he had a lot of practice on him. she would still freeze up when he did it and think about how oddly wet kissing was and therefore just how many germs they were transferring, causing her to rub her hand over her mouth for the rest of the night after, even now. 

it just doesn’t add up.

she tries to go back to rory and the advice she gave; that this just might be a hiccup they had to work through. she turns on the thick comforter, looking to the loaned date night shirt now on the  bed after she switched to pajamas, picking it up to hold it in her lap.

it was nice of rory to help her out like that. especially since she had every right to turn her away after all that’d gone down, and if paris was in her position, she probably would've. but rory had a niceness about her that would put mother theresa to shame; not only did she hand over some solid advice, but helped her not look like the date-clueless person she was. chasing out every body shaming cut-down her mother had given her.

“_..well if you think it looks okay..”_

“_I believe the word ‘amazing’ was used.”_

paris smiles faintly, remembering the bright smile on rory’s face to push her encouragement. she felt a warmth spread in her stomach.  _what was that? _ she shook it off. she doesn’t need to think about it.

she doesn’t need to think about why when rory complimented her, she feels herself go soft. or why when tristan did it tonight, she felt all the more uncomfortable.

she huffed, tossing the shirt aside. what was going on? why wasn’t she happy about this? she so desperately wants to be, and somehow cannot get there. and now all her effort’s, and rory’s, were for not.

_what’s wrong with you?_

paris swallows thickly. even in  thought, the words were somehow sharp. what  _was _ wrong with her? her fists start tightening, breathing picking up. 

nothing. nothing was wrong with her. she..she just has to try harder. that’s it. that’s all. rory  _said _ you don’t feel totally ready or secure or not anxious right away – her and tristan just have to try some more! that’s the answer, that’s how she’ll fix this. 

she swipes her phone sitting by her beside table, punching in his number. she tried to breathe normally ( _in, out, _ like she’s been told). she’ll tell him she had a good time. she’ll really  emphasize it, because if she speaks it into existence, she’s sure she’ll start feeling better. she’ll find him tomorrow too, to suggest another date, make herself excited about it. and when rory asks how it went, because she’ll want to know, paris will tell her it was good. that they had a nice time, that he was a good kisser.

that she was really happy and nothing was the matter.

-

paris is trying to think.

she’s trying to think. trying to sort out her thoughts. trying, to get through the haze, through the panic, through the smearing, through everything. but she just can’t.

she can’t because she didn’t get into harvard.

she didn’t. she didn’t get into harvard. she didn’t get into the school she’s been  destined to go to since  before she could speak syllables. the school she already bought memorabilia for, the  _when I get to harvard, _ the staple she’s been holding onto her whole life. she didn’t get in.

she’s on stage. she’s  suppose to be doing something, she knows that. it’s for the debate. the televised debate. a debate she would’ve aced if she wasn’t shaking and could think and wasn’t in the middle of a panic attack.

because she didn’t get into harvard. she failed. 

she, paris geller, top student, highest gpa, president of a thousand and one clubs, aced all her tests, didn’t get in. she, who told everyone she was going to make something of herself, didn’t get into harvard. who was going to be big. who was going to do something amazing. she didn’t get in. all her family had, and she didn’t. she wasn’t good enough.  _what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you –_

she knows she’s in a spiral and she can’t stop it. it’s slurring out of her mouth,  _I didn’t get into harvard, _ and the school, teachers and even C-SPAN are watching and she can feel all their eyes on her but she can’t get a hold of it. everything’s ruined. it’s ruined.

all because she had sex. she ruined her chances at harvard for sex and she doesn’t even think she fucking liked it. if she liked it she would know but instead all she feels is lost, her only recollection feeling nervous and being concerned about how sanitary it was and the fact that when it was all over,  jamie fell asleep and she didn’t. she felt sick, covered in sweat and prints of his hands and had to run to puke in his bathroom sink. she had this perfectly nice boyfriend and she fucking puked after sleeping with him.  _what’s wrong with you?_ and now the only guy who’s ever showed an ounce of interest in her is going to dump her because she’s a loser who didn’t even get into harvard.  _what’s wrong with you – _

she’s starting to cry. the spiral is tightening and getting deeper and she can hear herself yelling,  _ I didn’t get in, I’m being punished,  _ everything’s over, she’s a failure, a failure not going to harvard – 

and she’s going to have to tell her mother.  _ both of them. _ she’s going to have to look her mother in the eye and say  _ you know those  _ _ expectations _ _ you placed up nice and high for me? well the whole fucking shelf just fell down _ by actually audibly saying the words  _ I didn’t get in.  _ and her mother is going to scream. she’s going to yell at paris for how she could let this happen and what did she do that could cost them this and that she’s a greater disappointment then she thought and her father will shout  _ did you know five generations of gellers went to harvard  _ and about all the money they’ve spent for the best education to get her there and here she’s gone and wasted it and paris  _ can fucking hear her mother’s venom speaking what’s wrong with you and the she’s already choking up the shame she’s been forcefed her whole life and what’s wrong with you and  _ she can’t breathe she can’t breathe – 

– and suddenly rory’s there. they’re hunkered in the back somewhere and rory’s got an arm wrapped around her shaking body. paris wants to push away, tell off the girl she’s been spitting threats at for the past weeks and even before then, but she’s collapsing. she’s sobbing. she’s failed she’s a failure what is _wrong _with her.

“_they had to really not like me for me to not get in. it’s like they know me or something.”_

but rory is holding her up. her  _ stop  _ if firm but it’s gentle, her arm tight around paris, warm and secure. grounding her. like she always seems to.   


“_I don't know why you didn't get into harvard, but you are so smart and so special and you'll see, everything's gonna be fine..”_

paris doesn’t totally believe it is, but if she knows anything about rory, it’s that she’s always been sincere to her, true to her. so she eventually lets herself curl into rory’s side, feel her hand rub up and down her arm. stay with her until she’d stopped shaking, until the tears had subsided. lets herself be held in the moment everything was crumbling around her.

nothing was fine this time, but at least rory was here with her through it.

-

paris stirred the food around her plate, sighing heavily. she felt rather subdued for her graduation night. she should at least be a little more upbeat. don’t get her wrong, she was very excited for what was coming next; she’s going to actually get to work on what she was passionate about, her career, and be in an environment where people actually cared about intellect then the hottest gossip of who hooked up with who.

maybe it had to do with the fact of being alone on her own graduation night. well, sans her nanny – she’s very grateful for the dinner, though it doesn’t subtract from the fact of eating it alone in the small table inside the geller’s massive kitchen, hearing the woman hum around as she worked. didn’t subtract from the fact her parents didn’t even give her a  _congrats, _ let alone sit with her on her big night. 

though, that wasn’t the major thing. 

paris, quietly, reached into her pocket, pulling out  the old slip of paper. it’d worn overtime,  _the bangles _ in block  letters having faded. she ran her thumb  over the title, sighing again.

it was weird to be so concerned over someone you thought was your enemy. or, maybe enemy – in the years, rory had grown to be so much  more. a friend. a best friend. perhaps that was why paris had this sinking pit in her stomach over the idea she was never going to see rory again. never again, have that stinging but secretly playful bickering, hear that sweet and smart humour, a likeliness in the talks paris can’t find in anyone else. for so long she’d been begging for rory to leave her life, and now she’d do anything to make sure she was staying. 

suddenly, she felt fingers gently parting her hair. she turned, finding her nanny there smiling back.

“what’s wrong? I thought you liked my cooking..” 

“I-I do, I’m sorry.” paris quickly shoved the ticket back in her pocket, scooping up a forkful of food “nothing’s wrong, it’s fine...” 

the woman who very well raised her didn’t buy it, shockingly.

“it is a big day for you – it’s okay to feel –”

“I’m _fine.” _she cut off before the older woman could even get a word out “it’s-it’s not about grad, anyway. I just...I..” 

she glared down at the table, picking at her nails. she felt fingers go through her hair again, a calming tactic paris often pushed away now that she was older, but this time allowed. 

“do..do you think relationships can last? even out of highschool? even if...you don’t get to actually see each other?..” 

a look of realization came over her nanny, surprising paris. oh god, was it obvious? had she seen her holding the ticket?

“ah..” she grinned, cupping paris’s face “now I see – this is about your boy, isn’t it?” 

jamie. he hadn’t even occurred to paris. the pit in her stomach starting sinking again, and she swallowed thickly.

“yeah, sure. my boyfriend..” 

her nanny went on to assure paris that everything was going to be fine – that if someone truly cares for you, then distance won’t matter. paris made sure to smile and thank her nanny, even if she wasn’t sure her anxieties had been totally  quelled. she patted paris’s cheek and kissed her atop the head, let her finish her celebratory dinner, which she did and then went back up to her room to put away her grad gown and everything, trying not to think about a certain smile and  _I really hated you._

some time later, paris will hear through the grapevine, that rory was going to yale. yale. one of her three choice schools, a place that’d be pretty good to go  to.

after, she went to tell her father she’d decided on yale, and that maybe, he could help her with something. 

-

paris didn’t know what made her do it. she really didn’t. 

she has a proficiency to panic. to jump on ideas that are not good ideas. however what she does know, was that their spring break was  _not _ going as it should be. 

and maybe she hadn’t totally put out what madeline and louise had mentioned from her head. sure, she was rather thrown by the idea, of random make-outs for the attention of others. and when rory so clearly put down the thought, she made sure she made the same expression of disinterest and disgust. 

because she wasn’t interested. wasn’t. hadn’t ever thought about how soft rory’s lips might be, just in theory. hadn’t even wondered what would’ve happened if she hadn’t chickened out of kissing her for the play. 

plus, she had a boyfriend. who was smart. and older. everything she should be looking for.

yet here they were. as her and rory awkwardly stood around the heavy crowds and thick, warm air, doing their best attempts at dancing, the scene on the beach was running over in her head. madeline and louise do it. they do it and it’s not a big deal. it’s part of spring break. 

yeah, and they’re  suppose to be doing spring break.

and suddenly it was a great idea in paris’s head. suddenly, she’s looking across at rory as they debate their spring break experience and she’s smacked over the head once again by how beautiful she is. always is. suddenly, she has a way in and she can’t stand continuing to only think about it in theory anymore.

“well, what else do you suggest we do –”

the pink lips  _are _ soft. so  soft. her palms are around rory’s cheeks and she’s actually kissing her and for a millisecond paris remembers that this is suppose to feel bad. weird.

and it isn’t. 

but she can’t worry about it because rory’s lips are warm and soft. and she’s getting that fluttery, happy feeling in her stomach. that happy rory feeling. that feeling she doesn’t always get with men. hardly gets with men.

and if it had gone on any longer,  there’s a chance paris would’ve seen that maybe it wasn’t about not finding that feeling yet with a guy, but rather that ever since she was sixteen years old rory seemed to be the one causing it. only rory. why suddenly this feels so much nicer and like the kind of  _right_ you hear so much about –

except she was being shoved away.

“what are you doing?! are you crazy?!”

it doesn’t have to be the exact same words to have the same  tone, the same sharpness, the exact familiarity. paris blinks back, trying to come back into reality. rory’s staring wide-eyed at her, looking ferociously mad, and rory hardly ever gets mad.

the happy feeling dissipates. she can feel her heartbeat starting to speed up, the water going over her head.

“well madeline and louise do it!” she spat out in defense.

“madeline and louise wear their underwear outside of their clothes! I don't want to do what madeline and louise do!”

she needs an excuse. she needs something. rory’s mad. rory’s going to hate her.  


“I just thought –”

rory’s turning away. she’s leaving. paris calls her name and nothing, rory powers forward, trying to get away from her. the water is over paris’s head. anxiety’s in her chest, watching her best friend walk away. 

“get away from me!”

_she’s messed it up she’s ruined everything what’s wrong with her –_

it’s much later now. 

they’re passed out on the bed. well, rory is. she’s seemed to have forgiven paris now, laid beside her, still in her clothes after they stumbled back to the room, proceeding to have puked their guts out on the beach when trying to walk back. it’s quiet in the room now, only the low thump of music echoing outside. 

paris is wide awake. she can hear rory’s gentle breathing next to her, her arm just barely brushing against her own. she can’t sleep; she can’t even close her eyes. even the powered effects of overdrinking cannot take out the powerhouse that is paris geller if she doesn’t allow it. in reality, she wants to do nothing but sleep. 

anything to silence her head. to make her stop running over tonight’s events. to kissing rory and the happy feeling in her stomach. to how nice it was, to maybe rory thought it was nice to kiss her too. 

to rory shoving her away. to the anger in her tone, the look that paris had gone insane. to  _are you crazy?! _ to  _I don’t want to do what madeline and louise do! _ to  _get away from me! _

maybe that’s why she spoke asher up so much. she doesn’t even know if she believes half that stuff. but when rory had dismissed the idea of her and paris, incredulous tone like it was so insane _ – no way, you’re way too high maintenance for me – _ the only thing she wanted rory to know was  _fine, _ she has  _great _ boyfriend. a  _smart, handsome _ boyfriend. she thinks paris needs her? ha! she can just as easily go without if that’s the case!

the anxiety curdling in her stomach spoke differently.

she’s heard that before, high maintenance. why did it hurt so much more to come from rory then  anyone else she’s heard it from? it’s churning in her head. everything churning. it wont shut up. the rewind is going over and over and over and paris is starting to feel sick, feeling so stupid for ever thinking that was a good idea, her mind screaming, 

_what’s wrong with you are you crazy you’re way too high maintenance no way no way I don’t want to do what madeline and louise do no way get away from me no way no way no way – _

paris bolts up. she rushes to the washroom, shoving open the door. she just makes it to the toilet before she spilled her guts up all over again. she’ll have a brief thought to how glad she is that rory sleeps like the  dead.

eventually, it’ll  siphon off. she’ll slide back, against the bathtub wall, still nauseous and anxiety still eating at her. still lost, still feeling like she couldn’t get any lower. tears suddenly come over and she can’t stop them, knees drawing up and her head burrowing down, stifling the cries.  _what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with you –_

she’ll blame it on the drinks, on the alcohol. won’t look at it again. rory will find her the next morning, concern apparent when she says  _“I though I heard you get up in the night, everything okay?” _ and paris will be perfectly concealed when she replies, 

“_nothing’s wrong. don’t you worry about me gilmore.”_

-

rory finds her on the floor. 

she’s having a moment. a panic attack, spiraling, whatever the hell her parents or some physician or some therapist would claim it was. rory had taken to calling it  _alice-in-wonderlanding, _ just falling and falling down an increasingly dark hole. 

her back is up against the fridge, her fingers in her hair. her brain is screaming, going a thousand miles a minute. panic expanding in her chest. so desperately trying to hold onto some idea that she was fine this was fine she just had to stick it out and nobody would see and she’d be alright. 

rory sees. she always does. 

paris can faintly hear her voice. she lifts her head to find the brunette hovering over, tired eyes and old pajama pants with snoopy on them. 

“what’re you doing here?!” she hissed, furiously wiping off the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“well, I live here, firstly.” rory raised a brow, never one to be immediately scared off “and once the light came on and I heard the faint ranting, I kind of keyed into what was going on.”

paris only blinks back up. rory stars back, shifting her weight, the silence permeating around.

“can you get up?” 

“if I so _desired...”_

“okay, well, I’m asking because last time I tried to pick you up in the middle of a panic attack you puked.” she argued, which paris guessed was a fair point “..would it help to tell you how many germs are on the floor? or only hurt?”

paris glared up. rory sighed and walked forward, hand extended. 

“alright, c’mon..” 

“I don’t need _help –”_

“yes, you’re a very capable woman.” rory amused her, looping her hand under paris’s arm to lift her up, steadying her “okay, do you want anything –”

“no –”

“here, why don’t I make hot chocolate. calms nerves, good for the soul.” 

“rory it’s three a.m.” 

“that’s fine, I’m up now too.” she argued, having already taken out the pot.

“you don’t have to –”

“pass me the coco powder.” 

paris sighed. she’d probably always be known as the stubborn one between them, but even she had a hard time getting past one rory gilmore if she didn’t want to move. she got out the sealed container, sliding it across the counter. 

“this is so stupid, you shouldn’t have to be doing this.” she kept arguing, delving deeper that she didn’t give rory a chance to counter-reply by saying “what’s wrong with me?” 

rory  sighed, head going down when she realized where this was going “paris –”

“seriously! if there’s any large, encompassing question to solve for my life, it’s that one! nobody can figure it out – my parents, doctors, therapists, psychologists, councilors, rabbis, no one! there’s a glaring problem and even the people with goddamn degrees of the highest grade can’t solve it!”

“nothings wrong with you –”

“_yes there is!” _she didn’t mean to have it come out so harsh but her emotions spoke ahead again, voice shaking with vulnerable anger and frustration “somethings wrong! I’ve been hearing it all my goddamn life! you’ve seen the worst of it, how can you say there’s not?!”

“I think your mom has gotten into your head and now she’s speaking through you. frankly she’s a horrible person and you don’t have to believe her.” 

“it’s not just my mother – it’s her and my father, it’s classmates, it’s any other family members I’ve met, it’s teachers, it’s all the specialists my mother dragged me to, it’s the few friends I ever had, it’s people I’ve dated – and you! you’ve said it too! quite honestly I still don’t understand why you’re still here! why do you even want to be my friend?!” 

rory’s eyes squeezed shut “paris not this conversation again –”

“I’ve been unfair, too much work, and just downright mean – and you’re still here! I don’t understand you rory, why you’d still want to be here, why’d you put up all of this –”

“because we _are _friends paris! I don’t know what it’s going to take for you to get it through your thick head!” 

“but even then no sane person would stay here and treat me better then I’ve shown I deserve –”

“because you’re a _person _paris!!” the sharpness of the voice startled paris, watching rory slam down the empty mugs and fix her in a glare “and people should still treat you well! yeah you still drive me up the wall sometimes but just because you do doesn’t mean I have to treat you poorly – honestly I don’t know where you got this idea you have to _deserve _someone caring about you!!” 

the room fell silent. for once in her life, paris didn’t have anything to say. she was stumped. because she didn’t have an answer to that either. maybe she could blame it on her parents; her father and his continuous snubbing of her, her mother who would only ask more and more of her, dig into her and whittle her away and pass on all her own insecurities until paris was riddled with them. all the friends who never really got her anyway, the relationships she was never able to sustain. _what’s wrong with you?_

and then there’s rory, staring back at her, all the way from being sixteen years old. it’s three am and she’s making her hot chocolate. rory, who’s inexplicably stuck by. rory, who’s always somehow understood her, and even when she didn’t, still tried to help. rory, who’s never asked anything of her. rory, with her brilliance and suddenly sharp wit and her unmatched love for the written word and sense of humour  that wasn’t obnoxious like everyone else’s. rory, who’s been the biggest mystery because she’s cared about her without paris having to prove herself worthy of it first.

she’s in love with her.

it’s so obvious it could almost be funny. suddenly the curtain is tugged away and there it is, staring right at paris, how had she missed it before? rory. her best friend rory. there’s sudden tears around her eyes and her throat become too thick to swallow. opening her mouth only for nothing to come out, just a shaky breath.

rory steps forward, wrapping her fingers around paris’s wrist. there’s that smile again, gentle and encouraging to paris’s fragility. 

“c’mon. let’s just have hot chocolate. I’ll even let you count how many mini marshmallows you want in yours like I know you like to do.”

they have their hot chocolate, and  it’s nice. rory stays with paris in her bed, backs up against the wall, but falls asleep before she can finish her cup because of course she does. paris eventually nods off too, next to the feeling of rory up against her, head leaning on hers, quiet breaths ghosting over her neck. she feels better then she did earlier, but there’s still a panic  gnawing at the bottom of her stomach, reminding her of her newly found revelation.

she stuffs it. rory can never know. paris has to take that secret and hold it to her grave. rory may not have left yet, but if that came out she’d been gone. so she silences the overcast of dread.

nothings wrong.

-

they’re out. 

they never go out. but they’re out. with paris broken up from asher, and rory still living the single life, going out was the next choice. and rory said she was going a little stir-crazy, making laps around their place all day. paris was fine to remain in the safety of the indoors, but somehow rory got her out, and really, paris is mostly here to watch rory and make sure she makes good choices  because  _from past evidence you haven’t exactly proven yourself capable of making them yet gilmore._

now, she’s watching rory across the room of the party they’ve somehow found a connection into. she’s chatting with some guy. dark hair, nice shirt, not exactly boring but non-threatening enough to fit rory’s type. mentioned something about being an art history major, a topic paris can’t imagine why anyone would subject themselves to but interesting enough to rory.

and she’s just been staring. there’s this heavy pit growing in her stomach. been sipping on some lemonade flavoured vodtka thing, starting to become hazy around the edges of her vision. 

“can I get you a drink?” 

she jumps slightly. turns around, finding a guy her age there, smiling politely down at her. she blinks back.

“..what?” 

“can I get you a drink?..” 

paris doesn’t really know how to respond, because no one ever approaches her unless by force. so she just silently holds up her bottle.

“..ah.” he realizes, head ducking down slightly in a way that was kinda sweet “..can I get you a refill then?” 

not knowing why, she follows him. lets him open a new bottle despite her having at least a quarter to finish, and they start chatting in the hallway. she’s trying to listen; he’s in economic studies, a subject she could discuss, and she does a little, but instead, keeps wracking around in her brain. he’s objectively good looking, and is about something she finds interesting, and she appreciates when someone can hold a debate. ergo, this guy was a prize find. she hears him go on, and waits, to suddenly feel a pull of an attraction, which should follow, considering the above evidence. 

it doesn’t come. so, she does what she usually does in moment of concern – jump on the first panicked idea.

she clasps the side of his face and yanks him down into a kiss. he’s startled at first, nearly dropping his drink, but manages to catch up. paris proceeds to make-out with him, all but pushing herself into the kiss, desperate for it to start working. she still has the  remnants of the lemonade vodka, but he tastes like beer, which is literally the worst. it’s wet, his tongue in her mouth, kinda slimy. his lips are chapped. she suddenly feels sixteen again. the uncomfortable curl inside her, wanting to push away – but holding it through, confidant it  _had _ to get  better.

he puts her hand on her waist, cold fingers pressing under her shirt hem. she tries not to pull away. tries to focus on the kiss, but they’re slinking up her stomach. her eyes squeeze tighter shut,  _ignore it ignore it. _ she thinks she hears rory laugh from across the room. she focuses on the kiss, hand on the back of his neck; thinking maybe he’d stopped, until then, a palm cupped under her breast – 

paris sprung. suddenly, in a blink, she was feet away and her palm was stinging. he was yelling, slightly bent over as he cradled his newly red cheek.

“_ow! _christ, what the hell?!” he looked to her, not so much angry as totally bewildered “what’s wrong with you?!” 

paris was breathing heavy, eyes wide. she didn’t know what happened. she just knew she was feeling  sick and anxious and after he tried to cup her some kind on instincts took control. 

“I-I don’t know...” she stuttered, beginning to back up “I-I’m sorry, I..I...” 

she ran. tumbled all the way downstairs, not even bothering to say anything to rory. managed to find her jacket from the closet. there was also an unopened bottle of vodka hanging out by the door with the beer packs. not knowing why, she also took that.

she walked all the way back to her and rory’s place. brisk night air brushing against her body that only grew warmer the more sips of the bottle she took. she felt gross; like the night of her first time, wanting to chug mouthwash. she had time to think on her walk back, and by the time she arrived and was  about to be half-done the bottle, she realized her secret couldn’t be  stifled.

paris went to her desk, knocking over crafts and construction paper and  pipecleaners in attempt to find paper. once she did, she sat down and attempts to put heart on paper.

none of it was any good. she tried to begin easy saying she never wanted to burden rory, never wanted her to know, but  _to risk being horribly cliché, you must let me tell you how ardently I love you. _ that she’s always loved her. loves her  wit, her passion, her love of writing, her sweetness, her patience that paris can never grasp, their talks, that she’s the only one who can match her. even her  stubborness. how unorganized she can be. making them rewatch  _princess bride _ again despite her being able to quote it backwards. how much rory fits her, fills in cracks paris never knew how to  fix.  _you_ _ are my _ _sympathy, my_ _ better _ _self, my_ _ good _ _angel, I_ _ am bound to you with a strong attachment. _

_I have loved none but you._

it’s a  mess, clearly. smeared ink, rambling prose, lines crossed out. she’d gotten it out at least – but what was she going to do, actually give it to rory? paris just sits there, sighing. no energy to even cry. instead, she crumples it up, and stuffs it deep somewhere in the dresser drawer. lays her head down on her arms, defeated.

the door opened  about an hour later. footsteps shuffle up to her, ones paris already recognizes; sure, though light, still careful. she peels her eyelids back, spotting the pale face. 

“gilmore..” she murmurs, watching rory pull up a chair.

“hey..” 

“where’s...” she waves her hand vaguely, trying to the right words “art history guy...” 

“eh.” rory shrugs “he was nice enough, but..too nice that it’s boring, you know? not really worth the stress of figuring out a date night outfit for..” 

paris hmm’d. she watched rory pick up the vodka bottle, sniffing it. scrunches her nose. takes a swig. grimaces, again. 

“what about you? I thought I saw you with a guy, but then the next time I looked you were gone..” 

paris waved it off again, face scrunched up. she didn’t want to think about it anymore. she could still feel his hand over her chest, like a dirty handprint. 

seeming to pick up on her distress,  like, again, she had a special skill for, rory leaned closer to paris. pulls her arm back slightly to try and see her face.

“you okay? you seem more..off, then usual..” 

paris sighed. finally leaned her heavy body back up, eyes still scrunched. the silence made the house shake. rory picked up on this too, head tilted. 

“paris?..” 

“I think I’m gay.”

this time, shocked silence. it’s a good thing paris doesn’t have any energy to panic. she stares ahead, not at rory.

“..what?” 

“gay.” paris repeated “a lesbian. as in…liking women –”

“no no, I get the premise, I’ve heard of it.” rory cuts her off, brow scrunched “just..how did you come to this conclusion?..”

“I haven’t ever liked any men.”

“...well, that’s a good starting place.” 

“let me ask you something,” paris hits a fist down on the desk to mean business, shifting in her seat “when you’re with a guy, do you feel the urge to vomit?” 

“….not..usually..” 

“I feel sick – anxious, and not in my normal way! I feel like I keep forcing myself whenever I’m with a guy to not feel uncomfortable, to tell myself I’m interested in him when honestly I don’t care all that much. and, okay, when you’re intimate with a guy, in any regard, do you feel like you’re whole body is dirty all over?!” 

“can’t say I do..” 

“see?! I think, all this time, I’ve tried to tell myself I like it, but in reality I thought I liked it because I felt I was doing what was right, what I thought I wanted and what my mother wants and what society wants. but...it’s different for the women.” she sighed out and turned to rory, browns meeting earnest blues, feeling her throat close in “I notice things. I notice the way they smile, how they laugh, how they brighten when they’re talking about what they love. I feel different. I feel happy. men have never done that.”

rory says nothing, as there isn’t much she can say. they only sit in the silence. eventually, rory reaches up, placing her hand over paris’s on the desk. 

“paris,” she begins, uncharacteristically serious “..you know that’s okay, right?” 

paris chuckles humourlessly. looks out ahead again, and when she speaks, it’s audible how tight her throat is.

“not to my mother it is..” 

“..not to minimize that situation, but when has anything you’ve ever done pleased your mother? she’ll just have to deal. really, if you think about it, it actually makes a lot of sense. it’s the only reason why you’d ever want to date someone half a century old – or, even more confusing, someone like _tristan.”_

at that, paris starts to grin. it develops into chuckles, free and drunk, because god, it was so true. rory started smiling too. paris then drags her hands down her face, sighing out the weight on her chest. 

“..god, what is wrong with me..”

“nothings wrong with you..” rory assured, grasping onto her hand and smiling back “you’re gunna make some girl really happy one day. swear.”

paris glances back. rory is looking so earnest, so genuine, so willing to be the support in this revelation. paris can hardly stand it. 

“..really?”

“really. and I can’t wait to hear you complain about her to me.”

paris smiles, because it’s all she can really do. they collect themselves in the few seconds of silence, and then rory takes a deep breath in.

“okay,” she rises from her seat, sliding an arm around paris’s middle “I think it’s time we get to bed.” 

paris groans at having to stand, her own arm grasping onto rory’s shoulders, the other hand pointing to the clear bottle on her desk “you have to drain that down the sink for me..” 

“deal. as long as you promise to talk me out of ever thinking going out is a good idea next time I get so delusional.” 

paris snorts. she manages to look up to the head of slightly messy brown hair,  the furrowed brow as she helped them shuffle to their beds. 

“hey rory?” she poses, an octave lower “I love you.” 

“I love you too par.” 

-

it’s been a handful of weeks since the revelation. paris guesses part of her feels better. it’s nice to finally understand herself this way, to finally lift that hidden weight, coming home to herself. it doesn’t undo the homophobic environment she grew up in however, and the shame  spoon-fed since the beginning. 

or the fact of being in love with her best friend. 

rory’s really stepped up to playing the ally; she’s offered her best efforts to help paris find a girlfriend, even agreeing to go to a gay bar with her despite their vow to never go out again. she also told her  _I know you’re worried about your mom, but if it makes you feel better, when I told mom she offered to go to pflag on your behalf_ and frankly, paris isn’t at all surprised.

she keeps asking paris what it’s like, how it feels to like women,  _how did she know? _ paris has to keep covering her tracks; make vague statements instead of  _hearing you compliment me on my date apparel felt way better then when tristian did _ or  _kissing you for those two and a half seconds was a far more amazing experience then the entire night I lost my virginity. _ she doesn’t know why rory wants to know so badly; just trying to show paris she has her back about it, she guesses.

so, the whole thing, including the lies, were going pretty well until some tuesday night. it’s paris’s job to get the take-out on tuesdays, from their favourite hole-in-the-wall chinese place; she carried the food back with the plastic bag handles biting into her hands, kicking the door closed and heaving it onto the counter. 

“hey! I got dinner!” she yelled out, eagerly cutting open the bags “and can you believe they’re charging five dollars more for extra wontons?! we’re loyal customers – frankly, if they’re going to rip people off, they could bother to put more then _three _in there when they say ‘extra’!” 

no response. paris furrows. rory’s beat up converse, the ones she wears on tuesdays because they’re the days she has class across campus and claims they’re better for walking in, are there by the  door, so what’s the deal?

“..rory?! where are you?” she calls, walking further in to find her “c’mon – the lemon chicken you so desperately pleaded for is going to go cold, so –”

rory’s at paris’s desk. kind of unusual unless looking for a book she misplaced, but that’s not it. the drawer is open. she’s got papers in her hands. they’re crumpled up, have smeared lines, and for paris, who keeps every thing she’s written down even to the most insignificant grocery list neat and smooth, it can mean only one thing. 

her heart hits the floor. 

no. no no no no. that can’t be it. rory can’t be reading that. paris starts damning herself because in her drunken haze of that night she’d forgotten – forgotten about the notes other then a mere haze of remembering she wrote stuff down, forgotten she’d left it there, forgotten to burn it or tear it or even just hide it properly. 

and rory’s reading it. rory knows. paris is going to puke. rory knows rory knows rory knows –

hearing footsteps, rorys turns. blues hit browns, both equally startled, both gobsmacked and frightened. rory’s look of shock, of almost shame at being caught, tells paris everything. she’d read the whole thing. 

“..paris..” rory spoke quietly, turning the full way to her, letter behind her back like she was trying to keep paris’s own secret from her “...I-I’m sorry, I..I’d lost my notebook, thought, maybe, you’d put it in your desk in a cleaning frenzy...”

paris can’t respond. she can hardly think. she’s trying to find her way out of shock and she can’t. they only stare back at each other. rory gets this sympathetic look on her face that paris hates, biting into her cheek.

“paris, it’s okay..” she tries to assure despite how nervous she looks, inching forward “….please say something. it’s very unnerving to see you not talking...” 

paris would love to, but she can barely form words. she feels absolutely sick. her chest is constricting. she can’t breathe probably, choking in her throat. stinging around her eyes, becoming misty. 

all she can think right now is that she’s just lost her best friend. she’s just lost everything.

rory picks up on the tears, tilting her head sadly – sympathy. paris can’t stand it anymore and so spits out the first thing she can think of to take it all back, stuttering and weak.

“I was drunk.” 

“par..” 

“I was drunk.” she spilled out, slurred, desperate “it doesn’t mean anything. I was drunk. it’s nothing. it’s nothing.” 

it doesn’t work, of course. there’s no way to bandage what has collapsed. no way, for rory to believe it was nothing by the way paris was shaking, by the tears pooling. paris stomps forward, swiping, violently, the paper from rory’s hand. rory flinches a little, trying to reach back. 

“..par, wait,” she grabs the paper, taking it back “I-I’m not upset, I..–”

“don’t insult me!” paris lashes, hurt molding into anger that shows through the brown iris’s “you’re rory gilmore. there’s no love confession you haven’t run from.” 

now rory wilts a little. they stand there in a silence that’ll decide the future of their friendship and for paris she’s sure this is the end so she only stands there letting anger rise, make a monster out of itself, because that’s what she’s good at isn’t she, upset at the situation and for rory instigating it and at  herself for loving her in the first place.

“..so go ahead.” paris spits, words breaking, heartbreak leaking out “tell me you don’t love me back. I can handle it! there isn’t more you haven’t _already _told me of how awful dating me would be!” 

now rory’s sympathy is turning into upset, clouded face and folded arms.  _good._ paris is so angry and hurt that it doesn’t even matter.

“tell me I’m too high maintenance, again. that even if you liked women what would be the odds you would like _me _of all people – your crazy friend, the bitch, who’s just too much to tolerate being friends with, let alone be in a relationship with! right?! _I’m not your type_ – isn’t that what you said rory?! isn’t it?!” 

rory refuses to answer; her nails are digging into her folded arms, not meeting paris’s eyes. and that’s just infuriating paris more. rory could apparently dish it out but couldn’t even fucking admit to it. her anger is going over her head and she feels nails curl into her fist and she knows she’s crying but fuck it it doesn’t matter now it doesn’t matter now that she’s lost her best friend who’ll never ever love her back, so instead she lets her fire burn out of control and her voice rattle and break and lets rory go misty-eyed and lets go of the whole damn thing –

“_no way._ that’s what you said. _no_ _way, no fucking way! no way paris, I’d ever want to be with you!_ wasn’t that it?! huh gilmore?! you fucking said so, you’d never want to be with me! so say it!! tell me! tell me you don’t want someone like me, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ever heard it!! _c’mon!!_ say you don’t love me, _say you never __will!!” _

– and just like that paris finds herself standing in a pile of ashes. there’s hot, wet tracks down her cheeks and she’s trembling. she’s staring back at rory’s teary blue eyes but the brunette’s pink lips are still pressed together, swallowing down the lump in her throat, still nothing. still silence. of course there is. in a way, paris waits then, waits for rory to get her to come to her senses, for her to play the sensible one like always and detangle this mess, and paris will push because not this time, this wasn’t something they could just work their way out of.

and then rory walks by her. she pushes past paris with a shaky huff and bolts right for the door. paris just watches her wordlessly snatch her bag  nearby, throwing open the door and slamming it closed. run off. 

big surprise.

“..of fucking course.” paris sneers, the rest of her rage spitting out “run off gilmore, run away like you always do!!..” 

but there’s no one here. paris is yelling to herself. alone. 

like always. 

and now with rory slamming the door closed on her, how she will remain.

paris doesn’t even make it to her bed. her legs go out underneath her and her back hits the  wall and she crumples. she completely sobs. can’t remember the last time she’d cried this bad. knees to her chest, curled up into herself, wracked sobs and stuttering breaths she can barely grasp. she doesn’t get up. she stays huddled and hidden, left.

now would be the time she’d expect rory to come get her. now would be when the careful hand would be placed over her back and a gentle voice by her ear, the only one she’d really learned to trust. _you’re so smart_ _and so special. _holding her up. submerged in her own spiraling hole but then rory’s hand is around hers keeping her up just as the black is about to go over her head.

the apartment is silent. just her hiccuping breaths and her own mess left.

just her, left.

-

one week.

a week, and paris hasn’t even left her house. well, for about five days anyway. she could hardly get out of bed. it was like the rejection from harvard except, somehow, even worse. she could only sleep, getting up to eat in the select moments when she was so hungry she  _couldn’t_ sleep.

she’d never really been heartbroken before. the harvard rejection had been rough, but this was different. this was something else even more awful. hardly ever, could she actually  _feel_ a sadness weighing inside her heart.

thankfully, her stubbornness and pragmatism kicked in. she knew skipping classes would only dig this hole deeper, so finally, she put herself together enough to go out to class and that was it. never went anywhere else unless she had to be there, snarling at any familiar faces who tried to approach her. and going home, to lay back in bed after.

distantly, she wondered how rory was dealing with missing classes, not having seen her since she fled. there was the possibility she was coming in via bus for her class and then retreating, but paris had failed to see her around at all. she knew she was  in stars hallow. but frankly, paris didn’t want to  embarrass herself any further by going chasing after her. inevitably, rory was going to have to come back at some point and tell paris they clearly can’t live together anymore, so paris was fine to wait until that point.

and perhaps, leaving the whole thing up to rory was what landed her here in the first place. 

something is off the second paris enters her place from class, she just can’t quite name it. but she figures out what it is when she approaches her desk to dump her nightly homework on it, and instead, finds  a familiar sheet of paper she clearly didn’t leave there. crumpled  and messy, where she recognized her own printing,  but that had a second set of neat printing under it that she  _also _ recognizes. 

_If we’re using _ _literary references_ _ to get our confessions across, then I have something too._

“_I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald. _

if the wording didn’t give it away,  the printing did, paris instantly recognizing the small, slightly feminine letters. this had to be a joke. she feels like she should pinch herself, because this can’t be right.

someone shuffled behind her. paris spun around, finding rory leaning against the doorway,  demur and shy smile.

“..hi.”

paris’s head spins, this time metaphorically. she stutters, gawks, grapples with anything to do in this moment. her processing, in the heaviness of this revelation, hasn’t quite caught up to her. rory presses her lips together, shifting her weight.

“I know..fitzgerald, _catcher in the rye,_ it was never your favourite...” 

“...well he’s a misogynistic bastard who thinks jadedness is an interesting writing novel format...” paris finally stumbles out, squinting uneasily. rory scoffs quietly in amusement.

“right..” she smiles lightly, doing her best to meet paris’s eyes “but, if you’ll indulge me, I’ve been holding onto that one for a while. fitzgerald wrote it, in a love letter, and..it’s always reminded me of you. never thought I would get to use it, and yet..”

rory trails off, still watching paris, waiting. paris was still trying to  process this..confession, slowly putting together what  it meant. and in the end, the tried and true rises up in her – anger, scrunching up the papers in her grip and glaring over at the brunette.

“you think this is funny??” 

rory squints “..what?” 

“don’t try to humour me gilmore, don’t try to soften this blow, soften what’d happened one week ago, by using niceties and seemingly sweet messages! just tell me the truth!”

rory waits, processes, furrowing with heavy confusion. then, sighs deeply, throwing her arms up in the air, a smile that was more frustration and sarcasm then of happiness.

“..god, you are the only person who would see a love confession as a trick.” the smile goes, just leaving frustration and a glare “I am telling you the truth you dolt!!” 

paris pauses. chews on her tongue, watching rory – no longer angry, but still guarded, a furrowed brow. 

“well, forgive me, but it’s not like I have a great basis of information from you to go on..” 

rory dilutes a little. glances down, rocking on her toes.

“...I know. and...maybe it should’ve come out sooner, but it’s true. mom and I spent the last days dissecting, and I spent some time contemplating, and all of it...” she glances back up, smile softer “..I love you. I love you too..” 

she waits. she can’t digest that yet. it’s too soon, and paris has things weighing on her mind.

“..well you’re missing a fatal flaw.” 

“what?” 

“last time I checked I wasn’t a man.” 

rory  scoffed again, lips still tilted up.

“..yeah, turns out that’s not a huge issue.” 

paris’s brow shot up. now she’s intrigued. 

“do tell.” 

she pressed her lips together, seeming to muse on that,  fiddling “.. you know how I kept asking questions about how you knew? how you knew you liked girls, how it feels..?” 

“yeah?..” paris shifted her weight, afraid to get closer, but this was getting interesting “..I figured you were just being supportive..”

“yeah, and maybe so did I, but really I was seeing if your feelings for girls resonated with mine, and..” rory smiles, doing her best impersonation of jazz hands “..hello, gay now! well, bisexual, actually. and I guess not so much..now, as...always has been..– I dunno, I’m not up on the jargon. as I’ve learned next to everything abut life from t.v, anything I know about being gay I got from buffy, or really, from willow rosenburg..” 

now paris scoffs, lightening “knew there had to be an ulterior  motive to you constantly watching that show..” 

“I know – turns out, not everyone rewatches buffy’s scenes over and over for kicks. you should’ve heard mom’s joke about my type clearly being headstrong blondes when I realized this..” 

paris can’t help her smile, the tense air helped by a familiar rory quip. an easy way to feel at home. part of her almost wished she could’ve witnessed that conversation, of the mother and daughter pulling apart rory’s sexuality by discussing t.v crushes with their humour bouncing back and forth. 

rory smiles too, seeing paris lighten. but paris wasn’t ready for that, not yet, until she lifted the last weight off her shoulders. 

“..what about spring break?” she subconsciously brings up her arms, folding them, creating a guard for her vulnerability “what you said?..” 

“...I shouldn’t have.” rory admitted, also diluting “and honestly, I kind of hated what I said once I realized it. I didn’t know it weighed so heavily..”

paris would never admit it, looking away. but it wasn’t like she could deny it either. 

“..I panicked. even then..deep down, somehow, I knew, how I felt about you. and what that inevitably made me, by default. so when madeline said that stuff, I freaked and deflected it, because whether it was the being in love with you thing, or the bi thing, I just couldn’t look at it. and I’m sorry.”

paris still couldn’t quite look at rory, tightening arms. rory, a look of distraught she doesn’t usually wear, walks up without even a pause of uncertainty, and clasps paris’s wrist. 

“paris it’s not true. it’s not. I think you’re more my type then I actually realize, and...people can say what they want about high maintenance, but I don’t care. I like you. I love you.” 

paris swallowed tightly. she can feel the rise in her throat, trying to push it down. finally, she meets rory’s  eyes, true and pleading.

“...really?” she asks and it barely makes a whisper. small, scared, and also pleading.

“would I have stuck around this long if it really bothered me?” she prompts, another tiny smile “..I love you for you, I don’t mind taking care of you..”

and again, rory is looking so earnest and so hopeful. paris is stalling, trying to take it all in, but there’s still something unnerving wavering in her. she can’t figure out what’s wrong. there  _shouldn’t _ be anything wrong. 

because this is everything she could’ve wanted. rory, here, saying she loves her. that she wants her. and normally, paris would question it some more, scope it out, only ready to accept when she can be a hundred percent sure – but she also knows rory. and what sick fun would rory get from lying to her like that?

that means it’s true. it’s too good for paris.

“...from the mouths of those who came before you, it’s terrible work..” she mutters downward, not even having enough nerve to look rory in the eyes. her throat’s too thick to swallow again, and she wants to scream in the overcast of silence. she has to warn rory, because even she doesn’t have the stamina for this, for what she’s risking by her words. that paris wasn’t able to be loved long term. _what’s wrong with you –_

rory smiles. because of course she does. the fingers slide from her wrist, and cup around her own fingers. holding close. she leans in closer, shining up at paris who’s still too afraid to raise her head.

“not to me. not if it’s you.” 

paris looks up. catches baby blues, beautiful and absolutely true. she loved her. she honestly did. and then, paris completely melts.

now,  _she_ leans in, one hand clasping rory’s cheek, and kisses her. and this time, rory grasps onto her,

and kisses her back.

-

there’s boxes. boxes everywhere. it’s a sea inside what was once an empty apartment.

it’d been a very long, and very exhausting day. a lot of lifting and unlifting, sore arms and sweating, and paris yelling at whatever help rory had manage to wrangle for their move. no one knew how to organize a god damn thing these days, so she was just doing some clean up. it was nice of lorelai to offer her help, and for luke to do all the heavy lifting her and rory couldn’t, but once they tried moving various décor items around from the _specific_ place paris put them, she had to get them out of here.

rory’s on the couch – their semi-new couch, because while rory argued they couldn’t afford a brand new one, paris would rather drink bleach then bring a used good-will seat into her house, so they settled on one new one that was half-off because of the dent in one of it’s legs – with the t.v on. they’d set it up and even squeaked in the cable guy today. priorities first, after all.

rory could probably hear her girlfriend’s angered grumbling, so she perks up from her spot, turning to peer over the back couch cushions, watching paris. 

“..I’m going to regret this, but, what’re you doing?” 

“I’m trying to find the mugs.” paris huffs, shuffling her weight “they have to be burried at the bottom of this-this _mess_ – christ, what idiot organizes dishes like this?!” 

“uh, I believe that was you –”

“_no, _I have a system, whereas this is _lawlessness –”_

“then why do I have a particular memory of you slapping my hand away when trying to help you stack the bowls?” rory poses, settling her arms on the couch and her chin atop “anyway, my point is that you need to sit down. what’s the point of getting the mugs out anyway?” 

“asks the coffee fiend – c’mon gilmore, put two and two together! you’re gunna want coffee first thing in the morning –”

“paris the nearest coffee place is like..three blocks from here. we can just go do that; we’ve been moving all day, and in the two hours now after we’ve gotten everyone out and ordered pizza you haven’t even paused.”

“I just have to organize this –”

“par, you can just say no. I know you can. just say no to the mugs. c’mon, the pizza is getting cold.”

“I hate this!” paris can feel her chest start to constrict, spinning around to stare at the unorganized mess around her “I have to put this together, I hate moving –”

“I know, I got that impression when you nearly ripped out luke’s throat for trying to put the mattress down on the floor before we’d swept. we have all of tomorrow though, and at this rate you’re going to collapse –”

“who left the box with the shower curtain in it here?! that’s suppose to be in the washroom!” 

“par put the box down –”

“no – this just proves if you want something done right you have to do it yourself –”

“don’t make me come over there –”

“I’ll only be a second –”

paris didn’t get very far before she heard bare feet suddenly hit the floor and there’s hands over hers, ripping the box from her. 

“I’m doing this because I love you.” rory tells her, giving a smile that paris only feels mocked by, putting the box down and out of reach. 

“god, this is the worst.” she pulled her hands through her hair, after dragging down her face “I feel like I’m breaking out into hives – am I breaking out in hives?!” 

“no but I might be.”

paris lets her arms fall. she stares back at rory; old, holey sweater that was probably once lorelai’s, hair up in a bun. her words might appear frustrated but there’s a familiar tease there, baby blues warm.

“sorry.” she blurts out, arms crossing, looking away “I know you appreciate lawlessness, but I just..I can’t...and I don’t mean to sound demanding..”

she worries she sounds like her mother. she’s always worried she sounds like her mother. because if she’s as strenuous as she was, and her and rory’s relationships turns out like her parents’, she was going to throw herself off a cliff, that she knew for sure. thankfully, her anxieties have damped now that she’s been forced to go cold turkey on seeing them anymore. not that that was her fault, frankly.

the coming out went as well as she’d expected. rory, even at the expense of the terror that is her parents, refused to let her do it alone. they’d come in, hand in hand, and paris, for one of the first times, wasn’t as afraid to tell her parents her truth. nervous, but not afraid – now having a relationship that finally felt like it truly mattered, having all that love beside her, and behind her. they’d screamed at her. her father roared on about what shame this’ll bring the family, her mother demanding to know how paris could betray them like this (still holding onto the idea of paris marrying rich and popping out grandkids, no doubt). it was uglier then she’d expected, even as she held her ground, saying she loves rory more then anything, and quite honestly, she wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. 

she’d still cried. outside the home she grew up in, forbidden to ever return, tears  buried in rory’s shoulder and the brunette’s arms tight around her. despite how it had happened, there was some good benefits to letting go of them. the constant hand on her shoulder pushing her where they wanted, the beady eyes always watching to make sure she’d never slip, they were leaving. she was starting to lighten.

still, it hasn’t totally vanquished her concerns. the voice still lives in the back of her head, drumming like right now as she panics and tears at her skin, unable to sit just because some boxes haven’t been sorted,  _what’s wrong with you, _ why couldn’t she just sit, why couldn’t she just be normal –

“since when have you ever worried about that?” rory teased, bringing her back to the conversation. paris rolled her eyes. 

“I’m _trying _to be an accommodating partner rory, and not a drain on you.” she turned, sinking her fingers into a box of bathroom towels that needed sorting “because god forbid we turn –”

“we’re not your parents. and honestly, I think I should start charging you a quarter every time you make me say that.” 

paris furrowed “..this isn’t helping, for the record.” 

she went back  to organizing. god, who did this? a pair of arms suddenly slink around her waist, rory pressed against her back. soft lips placing a kiss on the back of her neck. paris sighs softly. she feels rory rest her chin over her shoulder, asking, 

“..would pizza?” 

paris can’t help the twitch of a smile “..well, it’s never let me down before.”

they both finally settle onto the couch, with the pizza and yet another rerun of  _friends._ rory is halfway in paris’s lap and she has an arm resting around her waist. she feels at ease. and it’s very hard for her to feel at ease. she felt herself drifting as all of today’s stain caught up to her, head tilted back and droopy eyes, but then rory shifts at her side, placing her hands on paris’s shoulder, chin atop and staring wistfully across the room to the brand-new white ikea bookshelf luke had nicely put up. 

“I can’t wait to put the books up.” she was smiling with what one would think was too much excitement for cataloging books if they didn’t know rory personally “we still haven’t decided how we want to do it.” 

“what other way is there?” paris asked, also looking over with a hooked eyebrow “they’ll be categorized by author’s last name.” 

“well what about by genre? you know, romance, thriller, mystery, non-fiction..” 

“you’ll never find anything that way!”

“yeah I will! it’s way riskier to do it by name, because what if you forget it? you could forget the author but you’re probably very unlikely to forget what the book is _about.” _

“I never forget anything.” paris challenged, head whipping back to look rory in the eyes “and since when have you ever forgotten who wrote a book you liked? I don’t want to comb through ten books trying to find the one _I _want because you thought lumping all the same books together was smarter.”

“paris you’re going to have to look through them _anyway_ to find what you want –”

“not if I know _exactly _where it is because I can remember author names where apparently you cannot.” 

rory sat up. tilted her head slightly at the bookcase. clicked her tongue.

“compromise.” she held up a finger “we do it by genre, but also in alphabetical order of last name within each genre, to minimize said time looking for a book.” 

paris didn’t say anything. a smile drew over her lips, watching rory.

three years. three years they’d officially been together – the longest of any of paris’s relationships, and frankly, the happiest. it didn’t even feel that long at all, so content she barely noticed it passing. and now, here they were, in their own apartment, with it’s slightly dinged couch and new breakfast table and the coffee-themed dishtowels lorelai bought them and all of rory’s dorky mugs like the yellow one that read  _kiss the librarian _ and another that had edgar allen poe on it saying ‘poe me another one.’ yes, they had lived together before, but this was different. better. and she was waiting for that to freak her out, or for it to freak rory out, and yet it hadn’t. now paris was adjusting to being a somewhat happy, content person.

that happy feeling starts to grow, sitting right in her stomach as she watched rory. they were young still. there’s still so much she wants to do, as does rory. and they were going to do it. 

paris also knows, that one day, she was going to marry rory gilmore. just, later. but one day.

“..woman after my own heart.” she remarks. rory grins back. paris leans up, meeting her lips. rory kisses her back, sliding more directly into paris’s lap and the blonde’s hand moving up along her waist. and very quickly, pizza and the reruns are forgotten.

paris was used to taking control in these situations; she thought she’d get aggravated by rory’s shy, school girl nature but perhaps it helpfully counteracts her control-freak ways by letting her lead. so she was surprised when she felt herself being pushed onto her back on the couch, rory pressing above her and tongue slid into her mouth. her hands still at the waistband and buttons of rory’s jeans, her girlfriend had already moved her hands under paris’s sweater, smoothing over, causing a content sigh in response. after it was pulled off, shortly continued by the sweats rory could easily tug off too.

guess they were breaking in the couch. paris was glad then it was new and therefore clean.

with that, and herself bare, paris blindly reaches up, managing to fumble around until she found the string for the lamp they’d already set up, clicking it off. a second, and then rory suddenly peels away, looking up so she can reach for the lamp – and turn it on again. 

paris furrows. reaches up, and turns it off. rory reaches up again and turns it back on. the blonde grits her teeth and, staring rory right in the eyes as she does, turns it off. her girlfriend, still smiling which was the most annoying thing, turns it on. now almost  frothing, paris shifts to try and grab the chord only for rory to grasp her hand. 

“we’re gunna be here all night par if this is what you wanna do.” 

paris glowers. her arms came up and slinked over her bare stomach, legs uncomfortably pressing together, and hisses.

“I want it _off.”_

“and I don’t.” 

“why?!” 

rory didn’t reply. rather, she reaches down, and gently pries paris’s arms off her stomach. leans down and places a kiss there instead, and slowly, started kissing upwards, over her stomach and up between her chest and to her neck. paris felt her anger start to dissipate, softening, breathing picking up the further along rory got. she was gentle the whole time, hands warm as they slid up the sides of her waist – careful to paris’s  nervousness to being so openly loved. 

stopping at her neck, rory finally leaned back up, still smiling and blues shining. even still, after three years, paris isn’t entirely sure what to do with all that love. she swallowed thickly, for once looking away.

“the light..doesn’t do any favours..”

“what, like getting to see my girlfriend naked? _what_ a bummer.” 

paris snorts, smile accidentally curling at the side of her mouth. but rory cuts her off by leaning down to kiss her again, and then by the hand slipped between her thighs and a following gasp echoing out into the living room. 

they didn’t leave the couch for hours.

-

whoever said your younger years are the best years of your life, clearly had no idea what they were talking about. 

maybe paris of the past would find it hard to believe, that as she’s about to turn thirty soon, she’d be at her happiest. her mother made aging seem like a less desirable option then getting a terminal illness, after all. and yet, here she was, way more content then women of her family or cosmo magazines would ever say she’d be after passing twenty-five. 

it’d helped that her career was blossoming, having really taken off. the whole making miracle babies business was going really well; they were making deals, getting written up, and paris was thriving and being challenged in a way she loves. and then there was the fact of being married to the love of her life. paris had always just assumed her mother’s life of divorce and loneliness were her stepping stones, and to this day she’s still surprised it wasn’t. no relationship is perfect for sure, but she knows now that her and rory have a foundation that couldn’t be cracked.

but mostly, she’d settled into her skin. it’d taken a long time, a lot of rot and undoing of ways she’d learned to hate herself, but she was starting to get there. about time, frankly.

it’d taken a bit of push to get back into therapy. she’d stopped when her parents were no longer there to push her. it hadn’t been to make her feel better after all, it’d been there to make her normal. so there was some resistance, the lingering of shame still swirling inside those offices. it wasn’t until she came home one  night,  going into one of the spare rooms with the whole thing  newly  painted head to toe in a light yellow and a painted spattered rory standing in the middle of it grinning like a mad man. they’d been trying for a baby for months; and, despite paris having built a very career in this, they were having troubles making it happen. after the sixth failed attempt, rory had declared with great frustration  and resilience, laying in the middle of  that empty spare room that  _was _ going to be for the baby but they promised they wouldn’t start prep  _until _ she was pregnant, once she finally  _was,_ she was going to paint  this whole goddamn room herself. so, standing there amunst the smell of fresh paint and her  _particularly _ glowing wife, she knew immediately without any words exchanged, tight arms squeezing around rory and happy tears of her own.

paris wanted everything in the world for this baby. and the  _last _ thing she wanted, was for it to grow up with parents like hers and in a household like she did. so, to fix that she decided to go back and  patch whatever wounds were not yet mended so this baby doesn’t think it’s own mother doesn’t love  it like she did.

and to her shock, it was actually working. paris  _was_ still herself, and parts of her would still rather peel off her skin then be vulnerable with a stranger. but crack by crack, inch by inch, it was helping her put some old haunts to bed. the anxiety she’d always held, the anger she’d always rattled with, flintstarters to the  _what’s wrong with you_ ’s – it’s not something she was going to wipe off the board completely like her parents had wanted, but now,  _finally, _ it was becoming something she could manage. something she could handle without always hearing the familiar hiss of shame. not wrong with her. only part of.

and now paris was starting to master it, which she loves. her therapist wasn’t sure if that was the main goal, but they’ll work on her constant competitiveness later. the main goal, she was told, was that she  _wanted _ to  change. some fluffy, cheesy bullshit she thinks, but whatever, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

currently, she was pulling up to the house, a days work on her and a session after that. she parked beside rory’s car still stationed in the driveway, she gathers her things and walks into the quiet house –  _their _ house.

they hadn’t had it very long, only five years, when they realized they’d wanted to start a family. it was about a quarter the size of the one paris grew up in. but what did it matter? she wasn’t into all the grandeur, and neither was rory. paris climbed up the stairs, greeted by the photos lined up along the wall; the many wedding photos – teary smiles of the both of them snapped in between giving vows, the ‘father-daughter’ dance of lorelai leading rory and then after where she led around paris who pretended not to cry – older photos of paris with the gilmores on her first christmas and then their first  hanukkah, the shot lorelai took of her graduating med school, still in gown right as she’s stepped off the stage, with rory wrapped around her and kissing her like there was no tomorrow.

it was still big enough, four floors and all the rooms you could want, and the only thing besides the size, was that, unlike her parents house, it actually felt like a  _home. _

well, so to speak.  _home_ was actually –

in the office. paris stepped into the room – with it’s numerous overstuffed bookshelfs and posters of austen quotes and sticky notes all over the desk – and her wife was there as expected. still in a nice summer dress because september had yet to bring it’s fall weather, hair in a messy bun, and furrowed brow down at her computer typing away. paris couldn’t help but be amused at how hunched over she was, barely fitting the growing bulge of her stomach under the desk. 

“you know, you realize, at one point you’re not going to be able to fit at the desk at all.” 

rory’s head spins over, smiling in greeting at paris. 

“but today’s not that day, so I admit to nothing. but! check this out..”

she reaches for an empty can of coke, pushing out in the chair, and then, precariously, places the can atop the bump where it managed to stay in place. rory grins in triumph, holding up her hands. 

“huh?!” 

paris snorts “well I see you’ve been very productive today..”

“well I got that follow-up article done for the globe, and finished a new chapter for the novel, but I think it all takes second place to my new trick.” rory rises up, walking herself over. paris smiles and meets her, taking her hand and pulling her into a kiss. as they kiss, her hand, without thought, falls over rory’s stomach, smoothing over carefully. rory eventually pulled back, bright eyes blinking up. 

“how was work?”

“mm. same circus, different clowns.” paris waved off, eyes going down and thumb smoothing over the growing stomach “anything yet?..” 

“_nothing._ I think it’s giving me the cold shoulder.” rory replies with mock hurt, also looking down “I’ve been doing all the things people say is suppose to work; talking to it, playing music, I even _sang _to it.” 

“quite honestly, I wouldn’t blame it if it gave you the cold shoulder after that.” 

“funny. it should at least appreciate my effort.” 

paris scoffs amusedly “you can’t believe all that completely zero backed bullshit you read on the internet gilmore. the baby kicks when it wants to.” 

“but it’s time now, we went past the marker weeks ago! I mean, after all my effort to make a nice home for it, and I’ve been snubbed.” 

now the blonde smiles “well, I’m sure your mother will have lots of suggestions when we see them tonight – she always does.”

and lorelai had plenty, of course. her and luke were over as she wanted to drop off some of rory’s old baby blankets and knitted knick-knacks she’d  kept despite the stock they already had, and paris wanted luke to check out the dripping bathroom tap. sure enough, he tightened it right up; paris thinks luke’s warmed up to her, not nearly as frightened as he once was anyway. he now calls her for any and all medical related issues – he wouldn’t dare step into a doctor’s office, but lorelai says he told her, that paris was family, and therefore trustworthy. 

“I appreciate you looking at it.” paris told him after he’d bolted it right in place, leaning over where he was working, distantly hearing the loud wit of lorelai and rory talking in the living room “because what I wasn’t about to do was shell out a hundred bucks to get a plumber to look at it and tell me it indeed, needed fixing.” 

“well why would you?” he agreed, leaning back up “they’ll squeeze out every dollar from you if they can!” 

while not necessarily an intellectual, luke did have a good understanding of how things worked in this world, and plenty of well-sounded rants paris could jump onto. funny, the overlap between her father and what, she supposed, was basically her father-in-law. after all, how proud would her father be to know she was taking the smart route to save where she could?

not that he’d ever say it though, even if they were still talking. like said, paris was pretty well over that now in her older age – for the most part. around a month ago, they’d scored a major deal over at her work – something they’d been working to get for a long time – and rory broke the new to her parents when they were visiting the gilmore-danes household. lorelai celebrated it like it was her own victory, squeezing paris in a signature tight hug and then spoke the words  _“I’m so proud of you kid, that’s amazing!” _ proud of you. paris immediately went misty-eyed and after had to escape to the washroom to wash it off. she could excuse it under the excitement, but rory knew the reason behind the tears and the big smile. she didn’t make a big deal of it, but she knew.

paris opened her mouth to say more but was interrupted by the sudden outburst of what sounded like eighties pop coming from downstairs. she furrowed. luke furrowed. paris went up to the doorway and leaned out, listening in. yes, it was eighties, specifically _abba._ waterloo, in fact. the two adults stood there in a contemplative silence, just _imagining, _what they were going to get into from this by their own respective gilmores downstairs. paris takes in a deep breath. 

“do we dare?” 

luke sighed, turning to her with the upmost seriousness “..listen, I’m fine to pretend the sink needed more attention then we thought if you are.”

“well, thankfully for you danes, you have an out. but sadly I have to go down before, due to this volume, our neighbours start banging on our door to this unwanted plast from the past.” 

“godspeed.” he saluted her with his wrench as paris made her way down. she entered into the living room, finding the two of them; lorelai folding out the baby blankets, and her much pregnant wife, opening up a kit kat paris is sure lorelai snuck in here – and dipping it into a jar of mustard.

“..am I allowed to ask why we’re blasting the _mama mia _soundtrack,” she asked into the room “or is that just a stupid question?” 

“hey, you wanted your baby to kick!” lorelai answered.

“what?” paris squinted.

“mom says the answer to making the baby kick is by blasting eighties pop.” rory explains, biting down on a yellow slathered chocolate wafer. paris’s head tilts back.

“..I didn’t know this was going to happen, and yet I _knew _that _this _would happen..” 

“you two go ahead and mock my system.” lorelai pointed a finger to the two non-believers “but every time, _every time, _I played abba – take a chance on me, mama mia, man after midnight, even verses of winner takes it all – rory would kick. every time, without fail. turns out iclandic pop was what got her beating against my stomach like she was going to pull an _alien.” _

paris just turns to rory “I didn’t know you were into abba.” 

“me neither, but hey, you learn knew things about yourself every day.” 

“mm. also, I’m pretty sure that monstrosity of a snack is _not _a part of the baby diet you _promised me_ you’d stick to –”

“oh c’mon, just let me have this! I got hit by the weird cravings, plus you’ve got me popping twenty different vitamins and eating so many greens it’s ridiculous, so I have to be entitled to some cheats.”

“lorelai, I know you’re behind this –”

“kid, trust me.” lorelai defended, hands up “chocolate is a necessary part of being pregnant, unless you would like there to be twice as many fights and crying spells.” 

paris slit her eyes, shifting her gaze between them “I can’t trust  _either _ of you.” 

rory broke off a stick, offering it to her glowering wife “a piece of the goods to keep you quiet?” 

“..one time gilmore.” she drawled, swiping the treat and biting into the chocolate.

“_sure. _also, no comment about the mustard-and-chocolate combo, by the way?..” 

“what? like this is suppose to be different from how you actually eat?” 

“you scorn me.” rory grins.

_unsurprisingly,_ outdated music didn’t help in getting the baby moving. they were forced through the majority of the  albums as they chatted over dinner until luke finally had enough of tearing his hair out and got up to turn it off, causing lorelai to throw a bread roll at him. but it did make it easier to talk; there were no conversations like the ones where you add the vibrancy and tongue twisters of one lorelai gilmore and then throw in the short, old man grumps of luke danes. paris was still getting used to dinner conversations, of drinks and friendly stealing pieces  off each other’s plates, where you talked. and laughed.

it was after dinner, where paris had forced rory back onto the couch because she and the baby had had far too much activity over the past few hours, and she’d waved off the parents from the doorway after they’d leaned over to say bye to rory who’d drawled sarcastically  _my wife has shackled me to the couch so I’m forbidden to get up _ and lorelai replied  _well I always figured paris was into that weird stuff but in front of the inlaws??_ because of course she did, that  _now_ she could join the brunette in the finally quieted house. paris loves them, but nothing beats the serenity of a quiet night in.

“anything happening?” she figured it couldn’t hurt to ask again, falling in place onto the couch beside her.

“all quiet.” 

“so the blasting of mammia mia songs _didn’t_ get the baby moving? colour me surprised..” 

“as it happens.” rory smiles back, sighing out “honestly, at this point I’m at my wits ends. I don’t know what else to do. it wins.” 

“probably smart, before your mother tries to play queen or god forbid _wham!_ or something..” she rolls her eyes, rory chuckling. 

“I guess. but...it is kind of disappointing..” smile slipping, rory glances down and runs her hands over her stomach “what if it never kicks?..” 

“the baby _will _kick my love. it’s a rudimentary stage. we just can’t just go around doing insane rituals or blathering on to your stomach because _some _idiot mommy blogger on the internet said it made it happen faster.”

rory didn’t respond; instead, paris saw her brow crinkle, lips pressing together. thinking. paris furrowed back, but rory spoke before she could ask. 

“you know...you’ve never spoken to it yet..” 

“and?..” 

“well may I ask why?” 

“rory, I love you, and I love our baby, but I have to draw the line somewhere to keep from looking like the biggest idiot for talking to your stomach.”

“oh c’mon, what’s the matter with you? everybody who has a baby does it par – even you, the baby expert, said the baby can hear from in there!” 

“it _can, _but that doesn’t make you feel less stupid! it hears me all day when I’m talking to you anyway, there’s no need for me to directly speak to it.”

“well think of how the baby’s feeling then, that you talk to me but won’t talk to it – it’s feelings are probably hurt! it’s own mother!” 

“the baby is still growing _tissue _rory, I doubt it’s having any sort of thoughts in particular.”

“I’m going to tell it you snubbed it.” rory threatens, adjusting her position on the couch with paris’s help, so she could lean down onto her side. 

paris snorts “after being forced to hear  _your _ singing voice, it should be glad for the silence.” 

“ouch, right in my spot of pride – my terrible singing..” 

paris scoffs again, lips twitching up. she leans down to kiss the top of the head on her shoulder. they settled into the silence and flicked on the t.v, paris pulling up netflix and getting ready to have the usual friendly debate on what show they were going to catch up on tonight, until rory spoke, 

“hey..” it was quieter, rory shuffling against her “I didn’t get a moment to ask you how your session was today..” 

“fine.” paris shrugged simply, because it was. rory shuffled again, this time with her chin on paris’s shoulder to glance up at her.

“..have I told you how proud I am of you for doing that, by the way?..” 

“..I’d retort with something like ‘thanks, mom’ but that’s entertaining the idea my mother would ever say something like that to me, so..” 

“par..” 

the voice had switched to serious, a rarity. paris finally looked back to rory, to the earnesty, and felt herself softening. she might be getting soft in her old age. or maybe it was just rory.

“I know..” she whispered back, because she did “..here’s hoping it actually does any good..” 

“paris I’ve known you since you were sixteen.” the seriousness was now chased out, replaced with a smile “I can see what good it’s doing..” 

now, paris smiles too. yes, it was definitely rory. the brunette leans up slightly, kissing her cheek, and then cuddles right up on her shoulder again.

so maybe she wasn’t going soft in her older age, but a different  testament to how old they were getting was the fact of half an hour  into catching up on  _the good place,_ they’d both fallen asleep. well, rory had, and she’ll blame  it on the fact of no longer being able to sleep on her back at night anymore (and now  instead she re-reads books by a  tiny booklight, causing paris to buy a sleep mask). paris was fuzzy but still awake, listening to the lowerd  t.v and rory’s quiet breathing against her as she blinked back sleepy eyelids. they shouldn’t have fallen for the trick of resting on the couch – faded with it’s dent still in the leg even though paris argued they could afford a new one now but somehow lost to rory’s ‘but it has sentimental value!’ counter  point of it being their first couch bought together – because that was going to get them everytime. 

paris peeled herself away,  propping up her dozing wife against the couch back so she didn’t fall. she cleared up whatever was left of the night in, and eventually walked back, this time sitting across the couch on the table. she grasped her glass, taking the last sip of her scotch, and found herself staring across to rory – still dozing as quietly and as sweetly as possible.

“_so, that’s how you look when you’ve just woken up?”_

“_um, yeah..”_

“_nothing in my life is fair.” _

paris smiles to herself. it still wasn’t fair. she leans forward, carefully brushing loose brown strands back. honestly, the fondness she had could disgust her with it’s sappiness – that is, if it wasn’t being specifically directed to rory gilmore.

her gaze moves down to the baby bump, another new fond warmth coming over. god, she  _was_ becoming a sap. maybe it was the fact they were having this baby together. maybe she just had too many drinks tonight. something. either way, paris will allow it for the minute. she stares at the bump, thinking about this baby, this tiny thing, growing inside – how much she’s going to love it, how much she already  _does._ how loved this baby will be.

_and yet, it will not kick for us, _ she snorts dryly. she sits there thinking, finding herself backtracking to the earlier conversation. the baby...didn’t think she snubbed it, right? paris knew that was an openly stupid idea – and yet suddenly, she felt herself doing exactly what she wouldn’t. 

“..you’re causing us a lot of grief you know, with this whole not kicking thing..” she mumbled, still staring ahead and fiddling with her drink “while I don’t blame you for not wanting to do it to abba, it would help your mother from searching the bowls of the internet for the trick that’ll get you to notice us. but, what a surprise, our child is stubborn as all hell..”

paris shakes her head, chuckling. she’s already picturing the arguments of her and rory, deciding who’s side the baby got  _that _ from. 

“..but that’s okay, if you’re not ready. because the matter is,” she leaned forward, pressing her hand over the bump, warmth radiating through “I love you anyways, always, and that’s the one thing you’re not allowed to forget..” 

her throat was suddenly tight. paris sighed in shakily, and swallowed down to shake it off. she was two seconds from removing her hand – 

there was a sharp kick right against her palm. paris gasps and before even being able to process it rory bolts awake from the motion, upright and wide-eyed. they both stare at each other in brazen shock until the reality finally sunk in, rory stumbling out, 

“did..did it just...” 

“I-I think it did..” paris gaped, her shock starting to mix with elation, and a beaming smile following “it did, it kicked!” 

“it kicked oh my god!” rory’s grin is just as wide, hurriedly sitting up and pressing back the hair in her face “wh-what happened?! what’d you do?!” 

“nothing! I-I was just _talking,_ and then I just put my hand on your stomach, I didn’t do anything, I..” 

“it heard you.” rory beamed, glancing down, hands smoothing over her stomach “I can’t believe that was all it took – it finally kicked, and I..I was _asleep _for it! I mean, not totally asleep, I was half awake, like I could hear you talking, but I figured you were just muttering to yourself like I always catch you doing so I figured I could keep my eyes closed but then _of course _when I do – par?...what’s wrong?..” 

“_nothing.” _paris tries to cut off, despite the tears pooling and the pitch of her voice, quickly trying to wipe it away “I..I just..I never thought it would’ve been _me.” _

“what do you mean?” 

“I mean I’m the last person I expected this to happen to! I was completely ready for it to be you, to come home and have you bounding up to me in delight saying the baby kicked today. that it heard your voice or something, or that it would kick for your mother or even your grandparents or luke, _anyone _except me but _somehow _it took hearing _my _voice to finally get it to kick and I..” 

she’s completely crying. part of her knows, logically, that it was just a random instance, that it probably had nothing to do with her. another part is so disgustingly happy because the baby chose _her._ not rory, not it’s grandmother. it wanted to kick for _her. _she got it to happen. rory just smiles, reaching to cup paris’s face and leaning in to kiss the top of her head. paris pulls her down and kisses her, unable to stop smiling. 

and, eventually, that baby they were begging to kick, finally came crashing into their lives. one late january day, the delivery room stuffed with her and lorelai and luke and the grandparents, and then half of stars hallow waiting outside, the baby they’d been talking of for forever was suddenly in her arms. 

a girl. full name lorelai emily geller-gilmore, but they’ll call her lora. it hadn’t snowed at all that winter, except for the night lora arrived, having brought it with her, a prophecy the eldest lorelai will never stop speaking. she’ll have her mum’s kindness and her mom’s fierceness and, as she grows, her grandmother’s humour. 

paris couldn’t love her any more if she tried.

and now, with this new little person in her life, it was hard not to reflect on how all of it, in her later years, had brought her to _this_ _point._ to where later, she’s standing in her – her and rory’s – home, currently filled with lorelai and luke and rory’s grandparents and now their five-month-old baby daughter, who was being held by her beaming great-grandpa as lorelai tickled her so they could all hear the happy baby giggles, luke was poking at the food in the kitchen even though they told him ten different times to leave it alone, and rory chatted with her grandmother as paris stood beside her, her pinky loosely wrapped around paris’s, keeping her grounded in the slight chaos of the merry-making family she’s never had – really, she didn’t need the grounding, at ease and smiling as emily made another sharp verbal dig that was no doubt a passed gene to the women in this family, but locked her finger around nonetheless. 

it’s all sort of a miracle when you put it in perspective.

that’s  when as she’s standing there paris will accidentally glance across at a nearby mirror, getting a reflection of herself, and see something she never thought would be brought into existence. 

a happy geller. 

huh. who would’ve ever thought it?

**Author's Note:**

> You made it till the end! That was a lot of words and run-on sentences LOL If you liked it, I feed off of comments & kudos. And as usual, tumblr is paris-geller-was-straightwashed.
> 
> Edit: I have realized that, actually, it wasn't Fitzgerald who wrote Catcher in the Rye. That was JD Salinger; it's Salinger I hate. I actually have no qualms with Fitzgerald (for writing anyway, as a person it's a different story) and very much enjoyed Gatsby (and now it's so fucking obvious to me that quote was clearly Fitzgerald bc it has the same beautiful language of Gatsby). However I still believe Paris would think the book was a waste. Please forgive me for I am a dingus and the shame of realizing this is enough.


End file.
